#but then when i take friends by their word that i can always talk to them and open up and say that i need them

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 2

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. my sincerest apologies for not putting this in the warnings at first. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. sorry bubs. swearing. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4k

Chapter 1 Master List

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. It’s only a few blocks.” You tell Max as you press into his side, shivering against the cold breeze of the Monaco night. It had been warm when you left the apartment earlier that evening but now the air held a chill that had you wishing you had taken Carles up on his offer to drive you back home. 

Around you, the city buzzes, a hive of activity on a Friday night but the extent of your world consists of only you and Max. 

“Of course I did. It’s late and cold and there was no way you were walking home alone.” 

“Max, we live in Monaco, I’m perfectly safe.” You joke but secretly, you’re glad Max had offered to walk you home. 

You’d never admit it but you liked being around him, his demeanor had always been calming to you and tonight, your nerves were frayed more than usual. It was probably thanks to the whispers you had heard at the gallery, asking not so quietly where Lando was as you walked around and spoke to the guests. He had never showed up and while you were disappointed he hadn’t showed, you weren’t quite surprised either. There had been something in his tone when you left that evening that had anxiety curling your gut before you even stepped out of the apartment. You hated to even think it, but you somewhat suspected he had never planned on showing up to the show at all that night but you wouldn’t ever put a voice to those thoughts.   

“Fine then.” Max huffs, but there’s no venom in his voice. “Maybe I just wanted to spend some extra time with you, okay? I feel like we never see each other anymore.” Max lets the unsaid end of that sentence hang in the air: ‘Because you’re with Lando now.’  

Your heart aches at the truth of his words. A lot of your friendships had taken a hit over the last three years. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but your circle had shrunk significantly since you had started dating Lando and it shocked you how you never had realized it until now. It had started small, with Lando saying he just wanted to spend the weekend only with you while he had a rare weekend off and then slowly morphed into him only wanting to spend time with his friends so if you wanted to see him you had to spend what little time you got with him with his friends as well. Slowly, your friends stopped calling and inviting you places because the answer was always the same: ‘sorry, Lando has plans this weekend and I’m going to tag along with him!’ Or just a straight up ‘no, not this time.’ 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, biting your lip as guilt creeps up your neck. “It’s been a rough year.” 

Max hates the regret that courses through him. He shouldn’t make you feel like this, shouldn’t voice his opinion of what he sees happening in front of him. He can’t help the frustration that bubbles to the surface when you talk like that though. He knows exactly where it comes from and it kills Max knowing that there is one person solely responsible for dimming that sparkle you’ve always had. 

Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a few tourists to shout in surprise when they have to dodge the Dutchman’s tall frame. A frown finds itself onto his face as he looks down at you. Your heart stutters to a stop, you’ve seen this look before and it has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. 

“I hate when you do that.” He can’t help himself, he’s kept his peace for far too long but the fact that  Lando missed tonights show has been burning a hole in his chest all night and the embers were about to flare to life. 

Panic squeezes at your chest. Around you, people are shooting glances your way as you both stand in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. You only have a few moments before someone notices it is you and Max Verstappen and start taking pictures. Pictures that will inevitably show up on some gossip instagram account and cause you more trouble than they’re worth. 

“Do what?” Despite your desire to not be seen arguing with Max, you can’t help the question that slips out. 

“When you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship and it’s not you, Dovie.” Max’s words come out more harsher than they intend and he knows he’s approaching a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed tonight. 

You can’t bring your eyes up to meet Max’s heated gaze but you can feel him looking at you. Those blue eyes you used to think you could get lost in when you were younger. Before everything changed. Before you met Lando and he swept you right off your feet. 

“Charles told me about the apartment.” Max confesses. Maybe if you know you have others supporting your decision to leave, it’ll make it easier. He hopes that his support would mean something to you.

Your stomach plummets to your toes, cheeks burning red with shame. “Charles should keep his big mouth shut.” You bite out, fists working themselves into a ball at your sides. 

Max’s eyes narrow at your outburst. There was the fire that you’d been missing. Something in Max heaves a sigh of relief, you’re still in there. You’re on the cusp of getting that fire back and Max can almost see you reach for it deep in the pit of your belly. You’re so close to the edge and Max knows you well enough to know when to back off.  

“I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t press. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.” 

Max momentarily wonders if he’s gone too far when he sees tears well up in your eyes. His heart squeezes at the thought of being the one to make you cry. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You sob, no longer caring who sees you or what could possibly make it back to Lando. “I know you’re friends with him and I shouldn’t put you in the middle of our mess.” 

Max’s brows knit together in confusion. The fact that you would question his loyalty to you over Lando simply baffles him. “I’ve been in your life longer than I’ve known Lando and you’ll be in my life long after he’s gone.” Max lets that last sentence hang in the air, the prophecy of his words clinging to your skin. 

“Max.” You whisper, floored by the fierceness of his tone and the sincerity of his words. 

Panic claws at him. He’s gone too far, revealed too much. He can’t do that with you now, not when you’re already so fragile. You don’t need that from him and he knows it. Back off, something in him orders and alarm bells clang to life. 

“All I’m saying is,” Max keeps his tone deliberately light. “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here. Always.” 

You nod, appreciating how he backed off when he saw you panicking. 

Max takes your elbow before turning you around, pointing you in the direction of your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you home, okay?” 

As Max walks you the rest of the way home, Lando is still set up in his gaming room playing Tarkov with Max on his stream. As they begin another raid, Lando notices Max’s stream start to pick up at a much faster pace than it’s been running all evening. He’s been streaming for hours now, since before you left the apartment and while he knows the opening should be wrapping up right about now, he has a hard time caring. Those things are always so boring and he never understands the art, even if it is nice to be photographed out with you and your brothers. 

“What is this link everyone’s spamming chat? You all know if you start spamming, we’re going to mute you.” Max asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

Lando glances over at the chat screen on his second monitor and sees his name flying by along with what looks like an instagram link. He knows he shouldn’t click on dodgy links but curiosity gets the best of him because at the same time the chat starts to explode, so do his notifications from Instagram. “The fuck?” He mumbles, ignoring Max who is reading the chat as they come in. 

“First Verstappen steals your championship, now he’s stealing your girl? Chat, what the fuck are you all on about?” 

Lando can feel the heat rising in his face and he’s instantly thankful that he’s got his video off. He mutes himself quickly too before texting Max, who is desperately trying to regain control of the chat. The link finally opens and Lando nearly drops his phone. He’s been tagged in a series of photos that show you and Max walking out of the gallery together, then you two stopped in the middle of the sidewalk embracing with you clearly looking upset, and then a final one showing you two walking away together. 

Anger flares bright and sharp in his chest as he looks at the photos. You’re making him look like a fool, galavanting around town with the likes of Max Verstappen late at night, especially after all he went thorough with Max last season. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Alright, chat I think that’s going to be the end of the stream tonight. This is why we can’t have nice things!” 

Max ends the stream without a second thought, knowing that Lando is going to be incandescent with rage after seeing those photos and reading all the comments. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source First he steals the championship, now it looks like Max Verstappen is making a play for @/lando's girl. Uh ooooooh... user9928 I mean, she looked pretty upset in the other pictures I saw leaving the gallery. Lando didn't show to support her so... user298 paddock bunnies gonna bunny >>>user223 she's literally known Max almost her entire life??? user110 this isn't a thing...her and Max have been friends for YEARS. Leave the poor girl alone user1008 lando's loss, she's amazing. user918 idk but if my girl got caught getting a kiss from another guy, I'd go scorched earth >>>user028 SERIOUSLY I am floored by the people defending her??? Like??? >>>user928 maybe if Lando showed up for his girlfriend, Max wouldn't have had to step in and comfort her...?

As Lando struggles to come to grips with what he just saw, you and Max are standing in the lobby of your apartment as you desperately search for your keys. “Fuck, I think I forgot my keys upstairs.” 

“Just give Lando a call, I’m sure he’s still up.” 

You shrug, cheeks heating. “He sometimes gets tunnel vision when he’s streaming and forgets to check his phone.” You admit, not wanting to go more into detail because you know how bad it’ll sound if you have to tell Max that sometimes Lando will completely ignore you while he’s streaming. What you also don’t tell him is that this has happened to you before and all three times, you’d had to spend the night at either Jade or Charles’ house because he had been on stream so late you had nearly fallen asleep in the hallway. 

Max levels a glare at you, unable to believe what you’re saying. “Well, lets both go up then and maybe we can get his attention by knocking.” 

Anxiety ripples through you as Max starts off towards the elevators, giving you no other choice but to follow him. It’s a quiet ride up to your floor as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, unable to even attempt to make small talk with Max. You know the facade of your entire relationship is about to be lifted right in front of one of your oldest friends and you don’t quite know how to make it stop. 

When you raise your hand to knock, your heart hammers in your chest so wildly you momentarily worry Max is going to be concerned for your health. Much to your surprise, it only takes a few short moments for the door to swing open so fast you nearly stumble back. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Lando spits when his eyes land on Max. The venom in his voice is so shocking you need to take a step away, unintentionally stepping closer to Max, which seems to set Lando off even more. Rage flares in his eyes at your proximity to his on-track rival. 

“That’s a wild way to say ‘hey man, thanks for walking my girlfriend home in the dark because I couldn’t be bothered to show up to her art show’ but you’re welcome.” Max grits out, taking one step closer to you as if he might need to get between you and Lando. 

Tension hangs thick between the three of you as Lando seethes where he stands in the door. 

“Max, it’s okay.” You whisper, shame lighting a painful spark of fire deep in your chest. This was going to get out of control so quickly. 

“No, it’s not and you know it.” Max turns back to Lando now, eyes blazing with a level of anger that is miles more intense than the look Lando is giving you. “And why the fuck are you coming at her so hot? All I did was walk her home.” 

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Because this was just posted by almost a dozen gossip accounts and was being spammed all over Fewtrell’s chat while we were streaming.” 

You take the phone Lando is brandishing in your face and go pale. The carousel of photos in the new post are pretty damning, you have to admit but you would have thought that your boyfriend of all people would know better than to blindly believe a series of grainy photos above trusting his own girlfriend. 

“Lando…” You sooth, arm reaching out to touch his elbow. You wince when he pulls away from you. “You of all people should know how those things are twisted. Max was just walking me home and we were talking, that’s it.” 

“But why was he hugging you?” He shows you the third picture of Max hugging you after you had started crying out on the street. You had to admit you were kind of impressed with how fast those photos got out, but it was Monaco after all and you hand’t exactly been discreet when you were upset with Max. 

“Because she was upset you didn’t show up for her. Again!” Max shouts and you flinch.

 The words slice a fresh wound across your heart. The fact that Max knew that this wasn’t the first time upsets you more than you think it should. You’re not entirely sure why Max’s opinion of you matters so much but you’re not quite willing to examine those feelings yet. 

Lando’s glare swings away from you and back onto Max. “Because I’ve been to a million of them and they’re all the same. Same pretentious people pretending they have taste. Once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all.” 

The words that come out of your boyfriend’s mouth have you audibly gasping, hand flying to your throat. “Lando.” You whisper, pain and shock coursing through your voice. 

You swear you feel a brush of fingertips on the small of your back but the touch is so light and so quick you think you’ve imagined it. 

Something flickers behind your boyfriend’s eyes then and it’s almost like he realizes he’s gone a step too far. His shoulders sag and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry baby.” Lando reaches for you and before you can step away, he pulls you into his chest. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen in his embrace though and neither does Max. “Please come inside and we can talk about it alone, okay?” He whispers, glaring at Max, clearly dismissing him. 

The way his arms used to feel around you was comforting, you’d seek his affection when you were anxious or upset and he would always take care of you but somewhere along the line, the affection you craved stopped being handed out so easily. Now, you craved it but only because if he was touching you it meant he wasn’t mad at you and maybe this time it would be different. Every time he showed you this kind of affection you hoped that this would be the time he would change. 

It never was. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Max. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” 

Worry lines crease the spot between his brows as he frowns. Everything in his body is screaming to put up a fight and not let you go inside with Lando. He knows if Charles were here and had just witnessed what he had, there was no way Lando would be leaving this building in anything other than a body bag but he wasn’t Charles and he didn’t have any entitlement to you. He wanted to fight but you weren’t his to fight for. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay Dovie?” 

Lando’s arms tighten around you at the nickname. He hates it and Max knows it. “She won’t need to, I’ve got her.” 

“You sure about that, mate?” Max asks, one brow tipping up in question. 

Without waiting for a reply, Max turns on his heel and walks towards the elevator. In his pocket, his fingers curl around his phone because the moment he gets out of the building he knows exactly who he’s going to be calling: Charles. 

As soon as Max leaves and your behind closed doors, the mask slips again. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, walking home with Max fucking Verstappen? And hugging him?” Lando is pacing the floor of your living room as you stand there, helpless to say anything against his raging. 

It’s usually like this when he gets angry with you and you’ve gotten good at being quiet while he rages. You have to let him work out all the anger and eventually you know he’ll calm down and apologizes for losing his temper. You’ve seen this before and you know exactly what to do, how to humor the angry beast that has surfaced once again. 

“Lando, it wasn’t like that and you know it.” You fight to keep the exasperation out of your voice, knowing that would just set him off even more. “I was alone, my brothers were going in the opposite direction, and Max offered. That’s it! It was completely innocent.” Despite yourself, you try to reason with him.

“You should have just gone home with your brothers then instead of putting yourself in that position.” He snaps and you glare at him. 

“You would have rather me not slept here at home tonight than take an offer from a friend to walk me home? All because you didn’t follow through with what you said you’d do?” 

You know you’re pushing him and Lando doesn’t like to be pushed. Your conversation with Charles two weeks ago flickers through your mind. How you deserve better and it strikes you then that everyone but you can see it. Everyone around you, everyone that loves you can see how bad he is for you, how poorly he treats you and how much you’ve changed since you started dating him. 

You supposed that if you had changed for the better, maybe everyone who loved you wouldn’t have anything to say. Don’t people change for the people they love all the time? You were sure they did but you weren’t sure you liked the change you saw in yourself anymore. You couldn’t fight it, this change that felt like you were wearing shoes that were three sizes too small for your feet. Like you had outgrown yourself in a way that wasn’t okay and you somehow needed to find your way back to who you were before Lando. Before he broke you. 

“And avoid you causing social media chaos that I’m going to be dealing with for weeks now?” Lando sneers, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at you. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

You laugh, cold and bitter, as you shake your head. “Thats real nice Lan, real nice.” 

“I’m just saying. Now the rumor mills are going to start up again. Whenever you’re at a race, people will be watching to see if you’re with Max again. Or maybe next time it’ll be Lewis. Or maybe you want to go a bit younger? Get a ‘friendly escort home’ from one of the rookies? I’m sure Franco would love to try his hand with you. My girlfriend, the paddock bunny being passed around.” 

The ache in your chest grows as he chooses his words carefully, barbed and sharp as glass, so they hit their intending target, cutting through you like butter and causing mortal damage.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” You whisper. “I’m sorry that the pictures hurt your feelings and were taken out of context but you don’t have to be so mean.” 

Tears threaten to spill and you will them to stop, knowing that will only fuel Lando’s fire. He loves when he upsets you like this, when he gets to tell you what a drama queen you are. Just like your brother, he would say, always whining and crying on the radio about how Carlos wasn’t being a team player and letting him win when he didn’t deserve it. 

“If I’m not the one to give you a reality check, then who will? Your entire family has coddled you for your entire life and you think you deserve some level of respect that you haven’t earned. If you deserved that kind of respect, you would have gone home with your brothers or walked home alone. People who deserve respect don’t put their relationships in jeopardy because they’re afraid to be alone at night.” 

“Put our relationship in jeopardy?” You laugh again, rolling your eyes at the audacity of what Lando is saying. “Lan, you really are being a bit over dramatic here, don’t you think? I’m sure the PR department at McLaren will take care of this by the next race, no big deal.” 

Lando laughs, dark and bitter as he takes a step towards you. You have to fight the urge not to flinch when he gets closer to you. Deep down, you know he’d never raise a hand to you but it’s hard to remember that when he gets in your face like this. “Now you expect McLaren to clean up your mess?” He hisses. “God, you really are a spoiled little girl, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just trying to find a solution to the problem that I seem to have caused.” You snap back, courage flaring in your chest as you stand up a little straighter. Max’s words from earlier play back in your head: ‘anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship’. “What if I come to the next race? If the two of us turn up in the paddock together, that will help quiet the rumors, don’t you think?” 

Lando narrows his eyes, “So you can get more attention from Max? Absolutely not. I’ll have McLaren handle this, okay? Just forget about it.” 

You want to scream at his solution because it was the same exact thing you had literally just suggested and been laughed at. But that was the way Lando was. If it wasn’t his idea, it was the worst thing you could have suggested. As long as it was his idea though, it was brilliant and the perfect solution to everything that was wrong. You should have anticipated this coming but you knew it was useless to fight with him. 

All at once, your body is overcome with this total wash of exhaustion. Total mental and physical exhaustion grips at your throat and you sway on your feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” You choke you. “In the guest room.” You tack on before turning on your heel and walking away from the fight like you do every time. Lando always gets the last word and as he stands there alone in the living room he feels like he’s won this one. He’ll have to call Sophie in the morning to get her to start working on damage control but for now? For now, he’s sure you realize your mistakes and you won’t put a toe out of line like that for a long time. 

Little does he know that all he’d done tonight was push you past your breaking point. 

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[oceantornadoo]

ch6 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: dirty talk and fingering

masterlist | next

The following week, you learn John Price’s meaning of “friends.”

It means no repeats of the library incident, as you’ve dubbed it. It means no more handfed breakfast. It means no hourlong cuddle sessions.

It does mean waking up tangled together, even though you went to bed on opposite sides. It includes five, and no more, minutes of breathing in each other’s presence, pretending to be asleep while knowing the other person’s awake. It proceeds to mean you staying in bed while John gets up at an ungodly hour, watching him get ready through half-lidded eyes. He always wears some kind of workout set, shorts that show off his unfairly thick and hairy thighs and a tight shirt that you can see his defined pecs through. Even if he’s going to the gym, he tucks his Glock into the back of his shorts. He comes back an hour later (you’ve timed it to be sure) and while he’s careful not to wake you, your body simply doesn’t allow more sleep. 

If you’re lucky, he’ll take off his shirt before walking into the bathroom. He’ll shed it with ease, swiping it down his face as he calms his breathing. This routine of his is addicting, as if a higher power is forcing you to watch how sweat drips down his upper half. Then he’ll shower, sometimes with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and don one of his many suits. Always with a black button-up, never white. Sometimes a tie, sometimes not on the days he seems more agitated than usual, like he can’t be bothered putting on his mask of professionalism. When he’s ready to leave, after he tucks his gun back in, he approaches you in bed. That’s when you play your game of false-sleep, eyelids stone-still as he finds your hand and kisses the top of it.

When he leaves, you don’t see him until he crawls in late at night.

This bed of yours, your new gilded cage, is in the master bedroom of John’s Eaton Square apartment. Apartment is in an inadequate word, a building for normal people who aren’t filthy rich. John’s apartment is a palace, complete with a sitting room and courtyard garden. After the library incident, where you were shuffled back your Ritz hotel room and passed out on the bed from sheer embarrassment, you woke up in the morning with Gaz of all people in the corner chair of your room.

“Finally, she wakes.” You blink rapidly, trying to process the scene before you. The bed is cold, no John to be found. Morning light streams through the windows, turning Gaz into something like an angel with a golden halo. He looks positively affronted at your lie-in, frowning as you stay silent. “Aren’t ya s’pposed t’ be a mouthy brat?” Instead of replying, you fumble around the bed until you can find the decorative pillow that was digging into your back all night. You grip it tight and aim true, clocking Gaz in the chest as he smirks. “There she is. Welcome back t’ the land of the livin’, Mrs. Price.” You groan at his words, smothering yourself in blankets. “I’ll be outside when y’r ready, don’t have all day.”

When you emerge from the room, he looks slightly mollified, probably due to the biscuit in his hand. “You didn’t get one for me?” He scoffs, then hits the button to call the elevator. “If you’d waken ‘fore noon, you would’ve gotten a whole feast.” You wonder if you would have seen your husband as well. His presence, or lack thereof, is the elephant in the room. Well, elevator.

“Where’s…” He raises an eyebrow with intrigue. “Wha’, don’t say y’r gettin’ attached!” You roll your eyes, scooting away from him so you’re on opposite sides of this metal torture machine. “E’s workin’. I’ll be takin’ ya t’ the Castle.” He sounds positively miffed at this being his day’s work. “A castle? I thought he lived in London.” Gaz smiles ruefully. “We call it the Castle, real behemoth it is. Don’t worry, it’s in Eaton Square.” You knew he was rich, but wow. Did he even need this marriage if he has all this money? It seems like his bank account is big enough to buy out the Riley family outright.

Once the elevator opens to the lobby, Gaz guides you to a sleek black car waiting at the curb. It’s a silent car ride, only punctuated by Gaz’s occasional short phone call. When you arrive at the Castle, you feel a sudden kinship with Cinderella, feeling like a peasant in rags compared to the riches before you.

It looks a bit like the American White House, with columns of marble on each level of the ‘apartment’. The outside is all white, a testament to how clean this part of the city is. When Gaz guides you out of the car and through the gated entrance, you note how the two guards at the entrance nod at him with respect on their eyes. Before stepping into the house, you turn and find men stationed throughout the small park across the street. They seem like casual city-goers to the untrained eye, but you know too well the stiffness of a mafia man.

The entrance feels like you’re back at the Ritz, with its marble flooring and manicured potted plants. Gaz takes on the role of real estate agent, guiding you through a floral dining room and modern kitchen, giving you time to glimpse one of the bedrooms before turning you to the gardens. As you walk, you note a chef in the kitchen and a few men at the dining room table. They nod in greeting but not much else, seeming to be absorbed in the laptops in front of them. They lower their eyes in deference to you, like they’ll turn to stone if they glimpse at you for more than a few seconds. Gaz seems at ease with all of this, pointing out decor and architecture like you’re not at the base of London’s prime criminal headquarters. 

Once you enter the gardens, a sense of peace settles between you two, an acknowledgement of the garden’s natural beauty. “As y’know, Price has a lot of time on his hands t’ garden.” You can’t help but giggle at the joke, smiling at the gardener who’s watering some of the white flowers. There’s outside furniture, couches and tables, and you can’t help but imagine reading here on a balmy summer night. 

Instead of walking through to the other side, Gaz walks you out the way you came in. “Price’s study’s on th’ other side, so we’ve turned tha’ an’ th’ two bedrooms to a security area an’ supply room. Nothin’ you’ll be interested in.” Actually, you’re extremely interested in what Price’s business is, but you bite your tongue as Gaz walks upstairs and into a beautiful sitting room. “Christ, this house is more for a Victorian lady than John.” There’s a sense of winning in your stomach as Gaz barks out a laugh at your joke, nodding along. The sitting room has walls miles high, decorated by rigid furniture and old paintings. It doesn’t look used, seeming to be designed to keep people from overstaying their welcome with its lack of warmth. You absentmindly wonder how lonely John was before this marriage.

Finally, Gaz takes you to the master bedroom. There’s a guard stationed outside of it, a younger-looking man who’s probably been given the job with the least amount of responsibility - guarding a room when it’s not in use. The decor of the bedroom is more modern than the rest of the house, clean lines and beige walls. Unsurprisingly, it’s very organized, a glimpse into the closet revealing Price’s suits hanging next to each other. What is surprising is recognizing your own clothes next to his, tops and bottoms hanging in color-coordinated order. The closet is wall-to-wall, with a room between the bedroom and bathroom, dedicated just for changing. 

“Right, well, tha’s the tour.” You’re back in the bedroom, standing awkwardly. He slips you a business card: Kyle Garrick - Security Professional. You snort. “Don’t knock networkin’, princess. Tha’s got my number if ya need it, but only use me as a last resort. Price’ll hav’ my head if you call me before him.” You tuck it into the pocket of your jeans, then scratch your arm out of nervous habit. “What am I supposed to do now?” He shrugs, clearly unequipped to handle this discussion of your future. 

“Reckon you get comfortable. Lot of shit’s goin’ down now, so don’t expect Cap t’ be home at 5.”

“Cap?”

“‘S what we call Price. Runs this ship tight as a captain.”“So without him, you’ll sink?” Gaz nods seriously. “Y’ve got no idea.” Clearly wanting to get back to his actual work, and uncomfortable in his boss’s bedroom, he makes a quick goodbye, leaving you alone. Something to get used to.

Your usual solution to combat the feeling is to call your brother. He picks up on the second ring, concern etched into the vowels of his speech. “Alright, love?” You nod, then remember he’s not here. “Yeah, just bored, I guess. I just got to Price’s apartment, it’s a mansion, Si,-” “‘m sorry, kid, I’m dead busy right now. Let’s plan a call on the weekend, yeah?” Oh. Stupid, you should have remembered he has a life outside of you. If it were a regular day you’d have one too, opening your bookstore for your late Monday hours. “Right, sorry. Let’s call later.” He grunts, clearly distracted. “Olrigh’, talk soon. Love ya, kid.” “Love you too, Simon.” He hangs up right after your goodbye, not even a second of breathing between you. You’re really on your own. Guess it’s time to explore.

The thrill of exploring lost its sheen five days in. Five days of John leaving in the morning, five days of hand kisses and nothing else. You explore a room a day, forcing yourself to flip through every dusty book or memorize every old painting. You tried talking to the staff, but it’s clear they’re only there when necessary, wrapped up in their own duties. The Friday after your wedding, only a week after the club incident, you finally get to talk to another human.

She happens upon you in the dining room, eating a late breakfast.

“Kate Laswell, solicitor.” A hand appears in front of your cereal bowl, stopping your spoon from reaching your mouth. Deciding to be courteous, you put it down instead of spilling milk on her hand. “Mrs. Price, ghost of the Castle.” She gives you a small smile like it’s a concession. You shake her hand firmly, noting callouses unusual of the prim and spoiled lawyers you’re used to. She doesn’t say anything, so you take a second to analyze her while she does the same.

Kate’s dressed in a sharp suit, pinstriped and tailored well. Blonde hair in a bun, with chic bangs on her forehead. What’s more intriguing is her accent. “You’re American?” She nods, sitting down at the table with you. There’s a stack of folders in her hands, laid carefully on the sleek table. “Dad’s British, old friend of Price’s father.” She lets you fill in the blanks, assuming she grew up in America with her mother. Every word of hers is thought out, leaning towards calculated but not quite. It’s silent for a moment as you continue eating your cereal, neither of you in much of a rush.

“Well, I’m quite flattered, but I’m assuming this isn’t a social call since the last time I saw you, you were negotiating this blooming marriage.” She nods, opening the first folder of her stack. It’s a…real estate report? She passes it your way and you note the pictures of various storefronts, mainly old retail stores. “Available Price businesses. Mainly purchased for tax reasons. This report details location, average foot traffic, measurements, etc. Questions?” The report is ten pages long, thick with ink and possibility.

“Is this for my…?” The thoroughness of the research impresses you. She takes out more stapled papers, detailing market value in the area and payment plans. “Bookstore? It took a bit to gather the paperwork, some of these places haven’t been looked at in a long time. I thought this might be more interesting than haunting the Castle.” Your hands nearly shake with excitement. You’ve been positively bored, nothing to do and no one to talk to. “Do you have somewhere to be after this?” You ask, almost timidly. She checks her watch, then shakes her head. “Not until lunch.” You grin. “Let’s talk.”

You talk for nearly two hours. Business plans, target market, the walking patterns of Londoners. She tells you more about the city than you could ever find online. She points out up-and-coming neighbors versus those slowing down. It’s refreshing to talk to a woman and not a man calling you nicknames and making your head spin. She’s smart and sharp, joking less than Gaz but greeting your own with rare smiles.

The two of you decide on a storefront on Carnaby Street, surrounded by boutiques and small businesses. It’s different from the vibe of your Manchester store, but a new challenge is all you need. You have enough money from the profits of your bookstore plus some your father left you, enough to buy the property in full from John. You have a feeling Laswell, as she’s asked you to call her, is underselling you, but you’re not going to blame her for saving you a few thousand. A few calls get made to respective bankers, and Laswell promises a contract and detailed payment plan by next week. 

“Laswell?” She tips her chin in acknowledgement as she packs up the folders. “Thank you for visiting. You’re welcome anytime, for lawyer stuff or not.” Laswell gives you a half-smile, then slips her business card onto the table. “Here’s my info, lawyer stuff or not.” She winks, then bids you goodbye using your first name. It’s a relief to be acknowledged. The whole interaction gets you out of your week-long funk, riling you up.

When’s she gone, you reach for your phone, calling one of your newest contacts. “Price.” You scoff at his greeting. “Jeez, not even a hello?” There’s a pause, like he took the phone away from his face then put it back. “Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t check the caller ID. You okay?” He hasn’t talked to you all week, so the petname’s a shot to the heart. “I think Laswell lowballed me, but I officially own one of your properties.” He chuckles, low and soft in your ear. Friends. Frenemies. Stay solid. “Tha’ righ’?” God, admitting this victory is like handing him your beating heart. “Yes.” It comes out stern and he stops laughing, mistaking your tone for anger. “Can’t promise dinner but I’ll be there ‘fore lights out, yeah?” The topic change throws you off. You nod, swallowing an embarrassing notion of asking about his dinner plans. “See you then. And, John?” He’s quiet, waiting on you. “I’m going into the city for dinner, taking a guard so don’t worry. Bye!” That leaves him sputtering, scales tipping towards balance again. “Wait, don’t-” Beep! He doesn’t get to finish the thought as you hang up.

You find a spare guard in the hallway, who tells you his name is Terrance. “Ma’am, I don’t think the Captain’ll be ok with this.” Another American. “Well, I’m leaving with or without you, Terrance. Let me know what you think he’ll be more okay with.” That gets him going, talking into his ear piece before moving to shadow you. You walk swiftly without direction, turning left down the street in search for a cab. Terrance clears his throat behind you. “Center of the city is the other way, ma’am. Let me call a driver, the cabs’ll cheat you.” You concede, the raging hunger in your stomach your main motivator. He probably wouldn’t have let you take a cab anyways, safety protocols and all that. You brush the small revolver in your purse for comfort and think of the small knife strapped to your upper calf. It’s not the best placement, but you’re overly cautious with your first venture into the city. You tap your foot impatiently as Terrance calls a driver. You didn’t eat lunch after meeting Laswell, too eager to explore.

After a short ride, Terrance sitting up front with the driver, you arrive to your destination: your new storefront. It’s a bit rundown but the street is busy even at this early dinner hour, a good sign for business. Huge glass windows frame either side, and you try to peak through to get a look inwards. It seems dusty but well kept, no signs of natural damage. A perfect clean slate.

Satisfied, you turn to look for a cafe, since the restaurants aren’t open just yet. Settling on a quaint one down the street, you order a sandwich and find a seat. It’s nice to spend time surrounded by others, lives flashing by yours in a flash as you sit by a window, picking at your food. You invite Terrance to sit with you twice but he refuses, content to stand near your seat at the window, eyes on both the inside and outside. You brought a notebook with you, so the hours fly by as you plan your bookstore. You force yourself to stay past dinner, only conceding to a ride back when Terrance looks dead on his feet and the cafe workers are clearly closing.

When you get home, John isn’t there.

Your veins go cold but you shake it off, reciting reasons why you shouldn’t care: just friends, childhood enemy, influenced the breakup of your family, forced you into a marriage, practical stranger. Then the other side of your brain responds: the honeymoon period, agreed to negotiations, doesn’t pressure you into sex, gifted you a library, holds you tight every morning, takes care of you when drunk. It’s a tie, like your cartoon devil and angel can’t even decide. Typical.

You decide on a long shower, shutting yourself away in the bathroom. Body scrubs, haircare routine, shaving, the works. The excitement of the day hits you and you smile to yourself, thoughts of your new bookstore drifting through your mind. Maybe you need some stress relief. Maybe you’ll give yourself what John won’t.

You drag a hand down your wet body, pinching your nipples. A scene from the library appears in your mind, the memory of being completely exposed under John’s view. How he brushed the lace of your underwear, testing the wetness of your folds. Your other hand starts to circle your clit, faster and faster as you imagine what would have happened had the clock not struck twelve. How he would have stuffed a finger, maybe two, into your hole, exploring the limits of your body. How he would’ve called you sweetheart in that rough voice. Your core tightens unreasonably fast, careening towards the edge of your orgasm when it just stops. You groan in frustration, then reach for the detachable showerhead. 

This time is rougher, torturing your poor cunt with harsh water pressure. You find yourself on the edge again, clenching with anticipation before it escapes you again. That’s enough of a sign that it’s not going to happen for you tonight. Defeated, you end your shower quickly, speeding through the rest of your night routine.

You exit the bathroom clothed in pajamas, sweating from exasperation and effort. Two failed orgasms is enough to break any woman’s heart. This thought is what keeps you from immediately realizing John’s sitting up in bed, reading glasses on, shirt off. It stops you in your tracks.

“Nice shower?” He asks, not looking up from the reports in his hands. You stutter, long enough for him to look up in confusion. “You good, sweetheart?” You shake your head, wiping your hands on your pajamas. “Sorry, lost my train of thought. Think the hot water fried some of my brain cells.” He chuckles, a sound that goes straight to your core. He looks so damn delicious, better than your shower fantasies. The glasses make him look like a frazzled professor instead of the head of a criminal organization. The fantasy is a bit broken by the Glock on his bedside table, but you shrug it off. You make your way to the bed, shutting off your bedside lamp as soon as you get in. His eyes bore a hole into the side of your head, like he can tell you tried getting off to the thought of him for half an hour and failed.

“Laswell tol’ me ‘bout your meetin’.” He says after a few minutes. You flip to face him, tugging the covers up to your chin. “I love her. She’s like who I want to be when I grow up.” Instead of reminding you that you are, indeed, grown up, he nods like he understands. You hate it. “She has tha’ effect. She’d make a mean school principal.” You laugh and he turns to hit you with the full force of his smile. “Like that lady from Matilda. But without the corporal punishment.” He nods. “Like a calm Trunchbull. Instead of yellin’, she’d jus’ stare.” You both laugh at the image, breaking the ice of his abandonment during the week. John turns out the light, disappointingly taking off his glasses and putting away his reports. You both get comfortable, facing opposite directions on your respective sides of the beds.

“‘M sorry for this week. Wasn’t real friend behavior.” Did he just apologize? You clear your throat, forcing yourself not to turn to face him. “It’s okay, I get it. I’ll be busy soon, too.” He’s quiet for a while. 

“I wish we had a longer honeymoon.” It physically hurts you to say. You quickly try to take it back. “You know, to spend in the library.” You mutter. “‘S ok, sweetheart. I would’ve liked more time too.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Right, well, goodnight, John.” What else can you say? I wish you’d stay longer in the mornings? I wish we had dinner together? I wish this was under different circumstances and our families weren’t entwined? “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Except sleep doesn’t take you. The memory of your shower is too recent, your core fluttering with the memory of your failed orgasms. You shift against the pillows, the scrape of the bedsheets torture against your skin. For a madness-induced second, you dip your hand down your pajamas, but you quickly pull it back when you remember John is a foot away. After fifteen minutes of squirming, he finally says something.

“You alrigh’?” You huff, still moving to get comfortable. “Sorry, I’m just hot.” He tugs the covers off you and towards him. “Can keep the covers off?” But now you’re shivering without their warmth. He moves closer to put them back, his face inches away as he tucks you in. “What’s wrong?” It’s low and sweet, like how he was on the phone. It makes you cave.

“I couldn’t get off.” He doesn’t react, like he was expecting you to say that. Which would be crazy. Right?

“Tha’ righ’?” You nod in the darkness, almost pouting in pain. “I tried in the shower and it didn’t work. Sorry, I can sleep in the sitting room if it makes you uncomfortable.” You feel him shaking his head, the whooshing of air surrounding the two of you. 

“You want help?” He can’t be serious. “You’re joking.” Instead of responding, his hand brushes your face, much closer than you originally thought. You inhale at the sudden rush of his scent, hips canting in the air in a biological response. He’s leaning over you, too out of reach.

“Christ, you’re gaggin’ fer it.” Your mouth drops, a perfect opportunity for him to brush the rounded O of your lips. He dips his middle finger into your mouth and, against your better judgement, you suck. “Look at tha’, so sweet fer me.” It’s encouragement to suck harder, rewarded with one of his groans. The moonlight catches the blue of his eyes, alight with hunger. You moan, and he evilly tugs his finger out of your mouth and into his own. Its a brutal show of spit swapping, leaving you panting. “John, please.” He gets the memo, sliding the finger under your pajama shorts. And then he just explores. Manipulates your folds this way and that, missing your clit by miles. 

“This a gyno exam that I didn’t-,” but he cuts you off with a rough kiss, his thumb pressing on your clit as he finally pushes a finger into your messy hole. It’s as possessive as your kiss at the wedding. He sucks on your top lip, then pulls away before you enjoy it too much. “So fuckin’ wet. This all fer me?” You nod desperately, hips moving to join the rhythm of his fingers. He finds your G-spot with ease, stroking you with a ‘come here’ motion as you rock against him. “Missed you, baby. Y’r cunny miss me?” And all you can do is plead, chests brushing against each other as he kisses his way down your neck, sloppy and unrestrained. “Yes, yes, missed you.” He grunts his approval.

His other hand moves to stablize his weight, forearm digging into the bed as his fingers curl around the crown of your head. Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging him back to your lips when he gets too far. A second finger, his ring one, meets his middle. You haven’t sex in a while, the only explanation for how full you feel. 

“Gonna hav’ t’ work ya open ‘fore you take my cock.” He whispers like it’s a note for him to remember, not meant for your ears. “Someone’s, oh fuck,” he circles your clit harder, tightening the coil in your belly. “Someone’s confident.” Is what you finally bite out, panting hard. He chuckles, nosing at your neck before kissing you again on the lips. “You opposed t’ future orgasms, baby?” You shake your head, babbling nonsense as he fucks you deeper on his fingers. Your cunt is begging for release, squeezing so hard you can’t breathe.

“Gonna come.” He nods, licking the sweat behind your ear before nipping at your jaw. “Let it out, sweetheart,” and you do, spasming on his fingers. He works you through it, slowing his motions with practiced ease. You breathe a sigh of relief, the tension in your body having disappeared. John captures your lips, allowing you to tug him closer so he’s inbetween your legs. You rub your sweat-soaked body against his, whimpering at the sensitivity of your skin. He shushes you, petting you with hairy paws as your breathing calms. “What a good girl fer me.” He whispers, almost condescendingly. You mewl at his tone, cat-like in his arms.

“I hate you.” You lie. All he does is kiss your forehead, then your nose. “Sure ya do, sweetheart. Feel better?” It turns you to butter. All you can do is nod, bashful at his tone. “Maybe.” He kisses your cheek, then rolls to the side, tugging you into him. “Sleep.” He commands.

It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten all week.

-

This is John’s mansion: https://search.savills.com/property-detail/gbsshsslh240021

Disclaimer that i have no clue how to write the differences between Gaz and Price’s accents so your patience and possible suggestions are much appreciated. 

🚨

i have no more room on my tag list. pls turn on notifications. if you’re not tagged, that’s why!

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[bee-whistler]

I submit as evidence my oldest daughter. Now, all my kids are good, but Doodle always had an extra affinity for kindness. She was so affable that my shy self would have her ask questions for me sometimes. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and MCAS which limit what she can do currently as we look for better treatment options, and she’s got a smart mouth sometimes (lol), but she’s still wonderful.

When she was little, all I had to do at the playground was whisper, “That kid doesn’t have anyone to play with,” and her natural, untrained and unprompted response was to charge straight over and get the kid to play with her and any kids she’d already gathered. Seriously, I didn’t teach her that. I just didn’t fight it. And we’d bring enough sand toys for all of them. We sometimes had to tell parents we had brought enough to share, all they had to do was ask, because they’d stop their kids from “taking” her toys.

She was bullied in middle school but still managed in high school to gather a group of characters and misfits who are friends to this day (she’s 27). She’s ace but has been mistaken for lesbian because she hugs everyone she loves and jokingly calls the girls in her friend group her wives. And she’s the “mom” friend, scolding them if they don’t take their meds, coming to me if any needs a ride somewhere or to get out of a tense family situation for a while, or has been sleeping on a folding cot instead of a mattress.

She thanks every cashier and server because she knows they work hard. She once comforted a Dollar Tree cashier after someone bawled her out for no reason.

The first time we took our little cat to the vet, there was an older lady there with a big dog. The staff came out and painstakingly took the dog back… accent on the pain. It had been attacked by unleashed neighbor dogs and there was blood where it had been laying! Once the dog was getting treatment, we heard the woman softly crying. My daughter couldn’t take it anymore and proceeded to talk to her until she got word that the dog was going to make it.

So yeah, Doodle is my proof that people are naturally inclined to be good. Even with the negatives in her life, she has managed to still be the person she was from the time she was small. We just have to try not to crush that beauty in a kid and it will bloom wherever you let it.

Also I recommend this:

Her channel is about positive stories entirely. A lot are animal stories.

“People are inherently terrible” no!!! Have you ever seen a child wait for their friend while they tie their shoelaces? Have you ever known someone who would bring hurt squirrels and rabbits and mice to the nearest vet just so it doesn’t suffer? Have you seen someone grieve? Have you ever read something that hit your heart like a freight train? Have you looked at the stars and felt an unexplainable joy? Have you ever baked bread? Have you shared a meal with a friend? Have you not seen it? All the love? All the good? I know it’s hard to see sometimes, I know there’s pain everywhere. But look, there’s a child helping another up after a hard fall. Look, there’s someone giving their umbrella to a stranger. Look, there’s someone admiring the spring flowers. Look, there’s good, there’s good, there’s good. Look!!!!

[sturniolosblanket]

texts w/ brothers bsf!matt + drabble

pt. 6

your blood was boiling. your weren’t exactly expecting to be greeted with matt making out with someone else the moment you walk into the party. it was like something in you snapped. you felt used, betrayed, pissed. you knew you and matt could never become something, but your feelings for him were so strong that it swallowed the fact that he’s your brothers best friend. it took you a long time to realize your feelings for matt, but when you came to the realization that you might be in love with him. it scared you more than the man himself.

you searched for matt’s car and himself in the huge line of cars covering the sidewalk. you finally end up spotting matt leaning against the passenger side door looking directly at you.

“what do you want?” you ask rolling your eyes trying to avoid eye contact.

“please don’t give me attitude baby.” he said frowning and tilting his head

“are you gonna cry about it??” you take a step back from him

“no,” he paused “maybe.” he said smiling at you

“are you gonna keep joking around or talk?” you said crossing your arms

“y/n, im so sorry you had to see me with that girl, i promise i don’t want her, she threw herself at me and i stupidly didn’t stop her.” Matt said taking a step toward you.

“good for you?”

“y/n it feels so wrong touching other girls, your literally the only person i want to touch”

“okay.” you responded flatly shrugging

“your a pain in the ass you know that?” he said shaking his head

“your not exactly the delight either, matt.” the silence after you said that was thick. both of you clearly frustrated, but your mind goes back to your messages.

“how do you feel?” you asked straight up

“what?”

“you said i can’t see how you obviously feel. so, how do you feel?” you repeat your question

matt sighs shaking his head moving back to lean against his car. “your my best friends little sister.” he spoke

“so i noticed.”

“Nathan would kill me if he knew I was fucking you, and yet I don’t stop. Why?”

“because your a horny fuck?” you replied chuckling to yourself

“Everyday for the past 4 months I risk losing my best friend to see his little sister.”

“matt stop fucking narrating your daily actions just answer the fucking question god damn.”

“I am obviously in love with you, y/n” he said looking dead in your eyes.

your stomach completely flipped. shocked, happy, excited, nervous. various emotions flowing through your body, searching for a response, but when you couldn’t find words. you and matt stare at each other in silence both still soaking up the words and meaning of his confession. you feel so relieved, relieved he feels the same, relieved you don’t have to hide your feelings from him or yourself anymore.

when you don’t respond to him right away he goes into a state of panic, thinking he needed to explain himself further, and words just start spilling out.

“princess, when i slept with someone else, it was to try and stop my feelings for you because the truth is, i’ve never ever felt this way for anyone else before, ever, and it’s scary as fuck. your the only person i think about, look for, want to talk to, and im just so scared of getting hurt that i hurt you in the process, and im so sorry for that. ill literally do anything or block anyone to gain your trust back.”

your face turns red at his confessions, and you feel your cheeks turning a shade of pink. you feel a rush of happiness flow through you as you jump up into his arms, and all matt can do is sigh in relief and hug you back. you hug him as tightly as you can. you never knew a hug could be so emotion filled, but somehow, it confesses a lot more than your words could.

“i love you too, matt” you said into his chest. “but, nate..” you said looking up at him.

“i know, princess” he said looking down at you “we can always just be together, and just not tell him.” matt said smirking

“that feels so wrong” you said putting your forehead against his chest

“i know, but not being around you feels worse.” matt said, his fingers snaking up into your hair

“can’t we just keep sneaking around and having sex, but not put a label on it?”

“of course we can, but would we eventually end up being together?” he asked

“yes.” you said stepping onto your tippy toes to give him a quick peck, “ of course.” you smiled up at him, “once you prove yourself trustworthy again.”

“yes ma’am.” matt said, his other hand snaking around your waist to pulling you into another kiss.

“i know it’s going to take a lot for you to trust me again, but i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he said after pulling away, looking into your eyes. you can tell he’s being genuine, that he’s not lying. so all you can do is smile at him and pull him into another kiss.

“i told you.” you said pulling away and looking at him with a big smile on your face

“told me what?” he said furrowing his eyebrows

“you went soft on me.” you said grin widening. a smile slowly forms on his face, he shakes his head slightly in disbelief as he presses his lips to yours.

a/n: SURPRISE!! i finished my work and felt a little devious. also yall, this ain’t the end, i want them to get caught by nate at some point so stay tuned reinassss!! comment ‘❄️’ to be added to taglist!🩵

taglist: @matteatmeout @littlefreak-liz @mattsplaything @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @isasflorals @harls-sturn @h3arts4harry @rcklessheavn @chrissysturnzz @rafesapprentice @mattysketchup @imobsessedwithtaylorswift @emely9274 @trvqvoiisee @heartsforsturniolo567 @rafecameronsbitch @annsx03 @slutmattout @trevorsturniolo @h3arts4nat @beersangel @sturniolosluttt @sturnzpro @slutmattout @rainebow333 @bigcoke69420 @nmegamett20 @ivysturnss @quirklessliap @rain-likes-purple @shadowthesim @julisturn @chrissturniolossidebitch @slut4chris888 @edwardscoldhands @freshsturniolo346 @nervoussagittarius @sturniolosfr3shl0v3 @ilovechrissturniolooooo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @secret-sturniolo @viktorssugardaddy @ikyoudreamofme @not-sinai @alyssa-sturn @ribread03 @bellassturniolo @bambisribbon @mrs-riddlexo

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

[justmeinadaze]

Reflection (Eddie X Y/N)

A/N: This idea came to mind after thinking about a conversation I had last night with a friend. (Yeah let's not talk about it.)

Enjoy <3

Warnings: Rockstar Eddie & Fem Y/N, daddy kink (cause im me), phone sex, LOTS of dirty talk, established relationship, fluff

Word Count: 1242

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.”, you giggle as he grins at the sound.

“I always forget how much I miss your laugh till I haven’t heard it in almost three days.”, the rockstar sighs into the phone receiver. “I wish I could see your face.”

“I know, baby. Did they say when you guys would be headed home?”

“Naw. All I know is this week we’re doing another photo op and some event thing I know absolutely nothing about. I don’t fucking get why we ALL have to be there.”

“I mean its Corroded Coffin attending not just, you know, Jeff and some friends.” Eddie exhales again as his thumb gently caress the picture of you two he keeps in his wallet. “What are you thinking about, honey?”

“I’m thinkin’…about how much I miss you…and how nice it would be to fall asleep with you in my arms. I’m thinkin’…about when I took on our date to the Starcourt mall and how fucking beautiful you looked in that black dress with your red converse.”

“You loved ‘em. Look I don’t own nice shoes! Not at that time anyway.”, you laugh, getting more comfortable on your bed that seemed way too big when the metalhead wasn’t there. “We went to the photobooth outside the movie theater and took those goofy pictures.”

Eddie beamed as he took in each little square of the photos with you two smiling like dorks. The last few frames were his favorite especially the last one where your hands were cupping his cheeks as his forehead leaned against yours. After the flash went off, he kissed you, knowing in that moment that you were the girl he was going to marry one day. 

Tilting his head back against the headboard of the hotel bed, his eyes met his own reflection as he smirked at the mirrors above him. 

“You know being on the road has given me some interesting ideas for our bedroom.”

“Oh yeah? Deviant ideas or decorating ideas?”

“Both.”, he chuckles. “My hotel room here on the strip has mirrors above the bed.”

“Oh my god, Eddie.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. I can see you from every angle especially when you’re riding me.”

“Eddie…”, you slightly pant his name and his smile grows as he watches himself reach into his sweatpants and pull out his half hard cock. “I…don’t know how to…we’ve never…”

“I like when you get all shy and innocent.”, he teases making your face warm. Listening to him spit on the other end has your pussy clenching and you allow your own hand to roam as it slides under the waistband of your panties. “Just talk to me, baby. That’s all you have to do until I can come home and Daddy can take care of his pretty girl properly.”

When you giggle, he pictures you doing it; your face ducking down trying to hide from his eyeline.

“Come on, princess. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I always wear one of your shirts when you aren’t here. It smells like you, Daddy.”

“Aw, baby. I always have my pictures of us. I bring them everywhere with me so I can see your face. Do you, uh, are you wearing any panties or a bra?”

“No bra…just my panties. The little red ones you like.”

“With the rose on the band?” A mixture of a pant and a laugh escape his lips when you confirm. “Fuck, I love pulling those down with my teeth.”

Eddie hears you giggle but it sounds muffled, telling him you’re biting your bottom lip which drives him crazy at the sight. Even just imagining it has his cock stiffening more in his grasp and he utilizes the little beads of precum to lubricate himself more. 

“W-What are you wearing, Daddy?”

“My, uh—fuck—my black sweatpants and some boxers. I pushed them down enough so I can…you know.”

“No, baby, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”, you tease. 

“There’s my girl. My little sarcastic pain in my ass.”, he laughs as you do the same.

“You love me.”

“Always. Fuck…I’m pumping my dick with my fist. Are you touching yourself, pretty girl?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m—mmph—rubbing my clit…wishing it was your tongue.”

“Shit—good girl. C-Can you imagine if we had these mirrors, baby? Y-You could watch me suck and fuck you with my tongue while my fingers spread you open.”

“Fuck, Daddy.”

“God, Y/N, you’re making me so hard. Put a couple of your fingers inside that tight little pussy for Daddy, baby.”, Eddie mewls as he thrusts his hips subtly against his fist. 

He hears your whimpers on the other end and his eyes roll back.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart.”

“Feels…feels good, Daddy. I’m so wet. I-I’m picturing watching you on top of me…if we h-had those mirrors—fuck—seeing my legs wrapped around you as you fuck me into the mattress.”

“Just like that, Y/N. Mmph—keep going.”

“Oh my God… seeing your ass as you pound into me…O-Or when you put my leg over your shoulder…I can watch your big cock disappear inside of me…Daaaddy.”

You could hear the light smacking sound of his fist as he picked up his pace and his head flew back as his eyes squeezed shut listening to you struggle to catch your breath. 

“Beg me to cum, baby. Beg Daddy to cum.”

“P-Please, Daddy. I need you to cum for me.”

“W-Where do you want it, sweetheart.”

“Ah…in…inside my pussy, Daddy, please.”

“Oh, f-fuck.”

Eddie grunted as he curled into his body, his release erupting and hitting his hand as he pictured himself filling you up. At the sound, your heavy pants filled his ear, listening to you whine as the coil snapped. 

“Oh my God.”

“Y-You ok, beautiful?”

“Yeah…did, um, did I do good?”

“You did better than good, Y/N. Fuck, that was amazing. Who knew you had such a dirty mouth.”

You laughed at his joke as you listened to his voice strain knowing he was reaching for a towel to clean himself with.

“You know what another benefit of those mirrors would be?”

“What, baby?”

“Afterward, when I hold you, I can finally get a good look of your entire face especially when your head is on my chest.”

“Eddie.”, you coo his name and again, he chuckles as he places the picture of you two back in his wallet pausing at the little blue box he had placed near it after coming back to the hotel that afternoon. 

“I, um, I think I’m coming home a bit early.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

Nerves radiate through him as he balances the box on his fingers before flipping it open to display the modest little diamond engagement ring inside. 

“Naw, sweetheart, I won’t get in trouble and even if I do fuck them. You’re more important to me than anything else. Plus, I, uh, got you something I really want to give you.”

“Eddie, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know I didn’t HAVE to. I wanted to. I’ve actually been looking for this particular thing for a while.”

“Edward Munson, if it’s mirrors, I swear to God…”

Eddie cackles as he closed the box and set it back next to his wallet. 

“Pfft, after what I just heard, I’ll bet you ten bulks you’ll already have them installed before I get home.”

#############

Eddie Masterlist

[dilf-docs]

So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

[lananiscorner]

Coldest hot take that ever took, but if people can understand the meaning of the word "nostalgia" and the sentiment of "god, remember when we were kids and our biggest worry in the world was whether we could have ice cream for dessert after dinner?", then they should be able to understand the urge to consume something that hearkens back to a time when the world seemed simpler (it never was, you just had adults taking over lots of shit for you and shielding you from the worst, ideally). A time when it was good enough for you to just exist and have fun and maybe learn about the importance of courage and friendship and kindness.

Also, I think a lot of the stigma around adults consuming media for kids is that puritanical panic around "but what if these adults are gonna corrupt/groom/abuse our kids???" to which all I can say is:

1) adults who want to do that will find a way to do it even without watching My Little Pony or Steven Universe or whatever.

2) Not every adult who consumes media for kids is a pedo. See the entire topic of this post.

3) You SHOULD want your kids to interact in spaces where there are adults around as well, because learning how to interact with people who are not the same age/ethnicity/affiliation as you is actually a really important life skill.

4) It will help them learn what healthy interactions with adult strangers look like, which will make it easier for them to notice when an interaction is not healthy (e.g. why is this one user so eager to get a picture of what I'm wearing today, none of the others have ever asked me for that).

5) By having adult strangers around that are not affiliated with their parents in any way, they will have someone to reach out to in case they are actually, in real life, being groomed or abused by someone they don't trust to report to their parents (e.g. dad's best friend, mom's sister, the teacher both their parents get along with so well, etc.)

"Fun" trivia: Many years ago, my mom and I used to be part of a massive anime forum/art posting site where the average age was something like 13 or so, and thanks to both of us commenting on art work a lot, we became "that one nice lady who always says what she likes about my art" and eventually "the one nice lady who's been nice enough for long enough that I want to DM her". And you would not believe the sheer amount of kids we ran into who lived in very troubled (and sometimes seriously dangerous) homes, who did not feel safe talking to their parents and who sometimes had no frame of reference for how stuff that RL adults did to them was wrong until they interacted with us in comments and DMs and realized what healthy interactions with adults at a respectful distance looked like.

Trying to remove adults who are not being creeps from fandoms for media for kids helps exactly no one other than the actual creeps who will simply pretend that they are 12 themselves.

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 cabin confessions : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

y/n loves gushing about Percy to her siblings, Percy accidentally finds out about this and he's absolutely obsessed with it.

author: i'll never get tired of cabin ten reader x percy, probs will write more abt them because ugh i just love them, also mentions of marriage!!

She sits on her bed, a brush in her hand as she gently runs it through the little girl's hair, her touch tender and soothing, pouring care into each stroke through the knots.

Her siblings sit in a circle around her on the floor, listening to her and hanging onto her every word as she recalls the time she was just friends with Percy.

"How come you two started dating?" Lacy asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

They already know how the story goes, they have heard about it at least twice now, but every time they look as interested on it as if it was their first time hearing about it.

"We were friends for a long time. I always thought that's all we would ever be." She starts, settling down the brush. "Percy was just... you know, Percy. All charming and brave and, well— completely clueless about my crush on him."

One of them giggles. "You had a crush on him first? wasn't he the one that asked you out?"

"Yes, he was, but it took him long enough to do it." she replies, smiling fondly at the memory as she starts to braid her sister's hair. "We kissed first, can you believe it? and even after that, Percy was still a nervous wreck when he asked me out. It was like he had forgotten how to talk and kept stumbling over his words, I honestly thought he was choking at some point."

The group erupts into laughter.

"And did you say yes right away?" Another sister pipes up, leaning forward with anticipation.

"I don't think he would've survived if I didn’t." She grins, her fingers working on the braid. "He was so sweet, he took me out for a picnic by the lake and he was honestly... just so perfect. I couldn't say no to him."

One of her brothers smirks, leaning back. "I would've made him work harder for it."

"He's worth it. He's always worth it." a chorus of 'awws' fill the room just as she's finished with her Lily's braid. "Okay, who's next?"

Lily grins at her and goes to sit down with the rest of the siblings, happy with her new braid, and the next sister in line takes her place on the bed while y/n grabs the brush again.

She knows they're not done with their questions. "And how did you two kiss for the first time?"

Beaming at the question, she tells the whole story again and again, going through the details while keeping everyone's hair knotless and braided.

Percy has always been amused by y/n's relationship with her siblings. Besides Tyson, he doesn't have anyone else to share a cabin with, so he doesn’t really get too many bonding opportunities as she does. She always tells him about the endless afternoons of talking, the movie nights, the blanket forts, and he can't help but feel just the tiniest bit of envy as he listens.

Right now, Tyson isn't even around because he's too busy to come back to camp this summer. So even if Percy's trying hard to respect his girlfriend's quality time with her siblings this afternoon, he ends up missing her too much.

Which leads him here, finally giving up on spending time by himself, he heads towards cabin 10, hoping y/n will let him crash her sleepover because he just needs to see her.

However, just when he's about to knock on the wooden door, he notices it's slightly cracked open. Laughter spills out, and he can even pick up her laugh among the others.

He doesn’t mean to pry, really, but it's not his fault that just when he's about to announce himself, he hears one of her little sisters asking. "And do you think you'll marry him?"

Percy stops right on his track, something just tells him they're talking about him. His suspicions only get confirmed when y/n is the one replying to the question. "Well, we're still young. But I can't picture myself marrying anyone else, you know?"

Gasps and excited chatter fill the room. Some of them beg for her to be flower girls at the wedding, while she tries, and fails, to get them to quiet down.

Percy's frozen in his spot. His heart skips a beat or two at her words. He leans against the doorframe, unable to stop the smile creeping across his face.

"Do you think he wants to marry you, too?" another one asks when the room finally falls silent again.

He does. Percy wants to make his presence known just to answer the question himself.

y/n chuckles softly "Well that's something that you'd have to ask him. But I sure hope so."

"You should propose to him instead." one suggests, they all break into a fit of giggles.

"Maybe I should. Do you reckon he'd like that?" She asks playfully.

Another sibling chimes in "He'd probably faint right on the spot."

Percy can't help himself anymore. Before he can think it through, his knuckles softly knock on the door. Everyone immediately falls silent, turning to look at the doorway, where he's shyly standing.

y/n's smile grows bigger once she looks up and finds him there. "Percy!"

"hope i'm not interrupting anything." he steps in, trying to keep his cool even though his heart is racing.

The Aphrodite kids exchange mischievous looks, some covering their mouths to hide their giggles. Lacy's the one to pipe up. "We were just talking about you!"

"Oh, really?" Percy has to act as if he didn’t know that already, raising his eyebrows as he glances at y/n, her cheeks are already tinted a pretty shade of pink. "Good things, I hope?"

"Of course" she recovers quickly, making some space for him to sit beside her on the bed. "What are you doing here?"

Percy carefully steps around the circle of Aphrodite kids on the floor and plops down beside her. "Just missed you." He replies simply, already reaching for her hand.

Her siblings immediately protest. "Don't distract her! it's her turn to braid."

She laughs, setting the brush down and instead taking Percy's hand, her delicate fingers lacing with his. "Don't worry, I'll still braid everyone's hair. Percy's just here to join the fun."

He chuckles, playfully shrugging. "I've always wanted to learn how to braid, I guess"

Her siblings break into laughter, and y/n rolls her eyes affectionately. That's how Percy ends up being instructed by a bunch of Aphrodite children on how to make a perfect braid while he listens to their chatter, laughing as they share stories with him.

Every now and then, y/n sneaks a glance at him, her eyes soft with affection and he remembers what he overheard. He will never forget it. But everytime she looks at him, he knows she wasn't lying just by the love he's able to see in her eyes.

Later, when everyone is happy with their braids and every story they could think about has been told, they start to drift away to their different sides of the cabin and Percy finds his perfect opportunity to mention what he overheard. He can't keep it to himself any longer.

"For the record." He starts, tugging her closer to him. "I can't picture myself marrying anyone else either."

Her breath catches and her face turns crimson. She immediately hides her face against his chest. "You weren't supposed to hear that!"

Percy laughs, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "Just let me take care of the proposal, yeah?"

She's utterly embarrased, but she finally laughs, swatting his chest lightly as she mumbles. "Deal"

They settle back into each other’s arms, the warmth of the moment lingering between them as they think about how lucky they are to have each other. Next time, when her siblings gather around her bed asking questions, she’ll have some news to share with them.

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[vifilms]

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY

feat. contractor!abby x exgf!reader

content warning. eighteen+, smut, angst, some fluff sprinkled in, devastating dykes, nickname for reader (cherry), jealousy, long lost love trope, hazel (spoiler alert, she’s a cunt), just an emotional ass fic.

THE SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS STICKING LIKE HONEY, she was the healing in a world that struck so much pain, a life you would like to forget, but can you truly forget just how much you loved her?

rayray sesh. been working on this baby for over a month and i’m very happy to post it on time! happy birthday, pookie — @sinstear ♡ this is my special crafted gift i wrote just for you on a day to celebrate just how amazing you are. erenboo, you deserve all the love in the world. i hope you enjoy this as much as i took joy in writing it for you. my love, sweat, tears, and cum are laced in it. special delivery. i love you so much, bub. always and forever.

✶ special shoutout to @hypnagogics aka my co-yap captain. thank you for proofreading my bigger projects. you are a godsend. my nonsensical typos would surely make it if it wasn’t for you. mwahmwah! you’re the sweetest, ily ♡

✶ header heavily inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners

word count, 14k.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 ❞

The more you try to hide from it, the harder it’ll be when you face it — at least those are the words Abby had heard from her old man for as long as she could remember. Suddenly, nearly thirty-years later, they reverberated in her mind like a ring of a bell. A vibrating reminder of how her life remained the same, your love having limitations, requirements she never could have been aware of at the ripe age of eighteen. 

All she needed was more time, more understanding, and a patient heart that was never reciprocated. On a day like today, she’s reminded of 

In Jacksonville, there wasn’t much going on, and talk travels faster than the speed of lightning. Murmurs of your return started the moment Dina found out, then it spread like wildfire. All of it feels just like yesterday but the spring of her youth is a far cry away, just dust and bones to be found on the ashes of adolescence.  

If the world was perfect, Abby could avoid all of this. 

Maybe if her life had turned out the way she envisioned. 

But it didn’t and neither did yours. Not as of late. Although Abby had to be tightlipped about it, business and pleasure entangled, all of that nonsense floating around her pretty head. A voice she once thought she had forgotten comes back with a violent need to be recognized, a calming notion before it punches her in the gut. 

Not to mention, she just had to be on your father’s payroll, had to face the person she was never good enough for. All of it feels nauseating. Excruciating. 

Reminder of a wound she’s never recovered from. Memories high and low come flooding, and with you in her line of vision, it only gets worse. 

Way fucking worse. 

“What is she doing back?” 

“As if anyone would want her here.” 

“Abby, was she even supposed to be here?” 

The questions pile along with the bile collecting in the back of Abby’s throat. The pit in her stomach manifests a black hole, feeling herself succumb to the spin of everyone’s empty threats spilling from her friends to you. Abby can tell just by the way you’re downing the glass of champagne and picking up the next, coming here wasn’t your choice.

If you could have helped it, you would have never come back in such a public setting.  

“Abby, are you listening?” She sighs, but still unable to take her eyes off you. 

“Do I need to rea—” 

“Yeah yeah, all of you hate them. I get it.” 

“It’s not that simple. They aren’t good for you.”

There’d been murmurs through the small town of your return. That’s what happens when your mom gets sick, you come home and that you did. The anniversary of your parents, forty years strong, is the first public appearance. The absence of your brother’s appearance isn’t talked about, it’s brushed over, just like everything else, just like you. 

“Yep, I got it.” 

“I’m just looking out for you. They don’t appreciate you and—” Abby shoots her a knowing glare, annoyed with the intrusion of everyone thinking they knew best instead of herself. 

“Yeah, like I said, I hear you, but you don’t fucking know her. Neither do I, certainly not anymore.” 

Running a hand through her blonde-glistening locks, the sunset saturates her golden as she ignores Hazel, taking a sip of her beer as she takes you in. Everyone always has shit to say about you. Your parents, her friends, Abby’s parents, but no one really knows you. 

It’s not easy for you to let people in, you seem as harsh as can be to others, but Abby knows you’re quite the opposite. 

Different from everyone in the room, a polished cream suit and open collared button up shirt with your delectable collarbones exposed, your rings twinkle as you pet the husky, one you don't know belongs to Abby. If you did, your hand might feel repelled. 

It’s what you always wanted. A life out of here, out of the small town where you’ve always felt judged, persecuted, even ostracized when you came out — and you succeeded — leaving Abby behind in the process. Even if you didn’t intend to, it sort of just…happens. We leave the ones we love behind, even if it’s our last possible intention. 

Goodbye notions simmer and we forget about the love we once had. 

“Hazel, Dina was asking for you, she mentioned needing some help finding JJ’s pacifier?” 

“On it!” Abby chuckles as the cherry-haired girl flees into the other direction as Ellie laughs harder when she’s gone. 

“You’re welcome. She's like a dog with a bone when it comes to your beautiful ex-girlfriend.” 

“Watch it. Calling another woman beautiful, Dina might just skin you alive.” 

“Nope. She loves me too much.” 

Ellie chuckles as they watch you down another glass of champagne. Freeing your hair from the tight bun, your hair springs to life as it falls around your shoulders, framing your jawline as piercing eyes find the weeds poking through the freshly cut grass. 

A few people had offered up a sloppy introduction, a grievance of pity, before returning to their groups. Anxiously, you tear at the loose thread on the cuff of your sleeve. It gets longer and longer, avoiding everyone watching you. 

Pretending you don’t exist. You never do. Not in this wretched town where all dreams get sucked into a bottomless pit, where believers go to die. 

Abby nods, the feeling builds in the pit of her stomach as she yearns to get closer to you. Even after all the hurtful insults thrown her way years back, she’s conflicted. A missile is thrown into her life with your arrival and all of her friends, besides Ellie, tell her not to fall back into old patterns. Not to fall for your charm, not to be a victim to reckless love. 

The kind that left her empty for years. Abby knew the moment she fell, from the very first time they met, if you ever left her she’d never be the same again. You don't forget a love like this. It tears a hole within you before you even get a chance to think about it, their presence consuming your entirety, an empty promise of endless salvation dies on the tip of your tongue. 

Impossible shoes to ever be filled. 

Truly, Abby thought she had been in love before you, but she wasn’t. The feeling she’s been chasing for the rest of her life returns when she looks at you. Those bright eyes when you play with the pup, the gentle hand as your scrap his chin with the crescent of your blunt nails. 

She feels more looking at you for one moment than anyone she’s dated after you. 

It’s sickening. 

Still, her friends ridicule her any chance they get. Telling her of what you’re like, how you hurt her, what you’ll do when your claws sink into Abby. It falls on a hyper fixated heart. She can’t think of anything when all the blood comes rushing to her head, how beautiful you look when she sees you anxiously biting your bottom lip, something you do when you’re attempting to stop the tears from spilling. 

None of them knew what it meant to look in your eyes and wonder how someone so good couldn’t recognize the purity in your eyes, the love you give out when the world feels like it’s crumbling around you. They didn’t see the years of torture, the family that wasn’t so perfect, the anger you held wound so tight. You didn’t have anywhere to put it. Never could. Not when the image of the perfect daughter is meant to be upheld. 

Not a soul knows the information Abby does. There’s nothing more you love than to hide in the shadows, hoping to be forgotten, how you nearly crave to be eaten alive if it means an end to your misery. It isn’t lost on her how much she wants to shield you from it all. 

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” 

Ellie points the glass of wine she’s been nursing to you, watching as you excuse yourself into the empty guest house. Your body is still viewable through the tall glass windows, your body disappearing from the common area of the small home. The exact one she’s been renovating per your mother’s request. 

“She’ll just—” Absentmindedly, Abby kicks the dirt with the toe of her boot, rooting her heel in the ground as she bites the wall of her gums, trying to center herself. Attempting to not let her mind wander into what if’s, what could have been. 

“What? Figure out you’re scared?” 

“I’m not scared.” Sighing into the palm of her hands as she can’t help but bite into Ellie’s comment, “It’s been years. For all I know, Cherry hates my guts. Not that it fucking matters, but I’m the last person they want to talk to. Plus, when she’s upset the last thing they want is to talk.”  

“You’ll do just fine, can’t be too bad. They were always sweet on you.” 

“It’s been years, Hazel’s right, in some sense I—” 

“Please, even you know the only thing she wants is to get in your pants. That part is lost on me, you’re too beefy for my taste.”

“Some people like that, dick.” 

“Your girlfriend sure did.” 

“Ex-girlfriend.” 

The rest of the night Abby avoids all of her friends, especially the meddling junkie, Hazel; fucking hazel. She wouldn’t let her rest. They never had done more than share a friendly hug and for some reason she always looked at Abby like she hung all the stars spreading across the galaxy. 

“Are you going to let Hazel think she has a chance forever?” 

Abby just shakes her head in omission. 

“There’s no chance, I’m not—” 

“Abby! I got you a glass of lemonade. Sweet with just a few cubes of ice, just the way you like it!” Ellie wiggles her eyebrows at Abby as if she has proved her point. 

As soon as Hazel turns around, Ellie goes right back to the pitch of her ex-girlfriend, trying to sell Abby on the past. The only woman Dina and her had liked in her mess of a dating scene. A long line of hookups, one serious relationship that ended so horrifically the cops had to be called, and then there was Hazel. A naive girl who had been harboring a crush for nearly a year, the time Dina had adopted her into their little makeshift family. 

You walk out of the guest house more comfortably. A pair of dark denim and a black graphic tee with the sleeves cut off. Abby smiles at how much you look like the woman she fell in love with, the youthful ache she still feels with every beat of her heart. The one you crushed in the palm of her hands without thinking twice. 

Abby’s throat constricts when you catch her staring, quickly looking away, biting at your fingernails before your father introduces you to the new neighbors. 

“What’s so important, Hazel?” Ellie bites. 

Hazel ignores her. All she can see is Abby looking right at you. 

Abby had realized she completely zoned out, her energy and focus harbored on you. Five minutes within your arrival and her head was already feeling the rapid hum of her heartbeat caught in the bottom of her throat as you looked at her again, just for a second longer before you turned the other direction, away from her gaze. 

“Abby—” 

Abby hums absentmindedly with you on her mind, infecting her thoughts like a former addict getting their first fix for years. The high. It feels even better than her mind could remember. The curious gaze in bright eyes feels intoxicating, too good to be true, and the fall feels higher than it ever was to begin with. 

“Yeah?” 

“She’s coming over here.” 

It only takes a few minutes before Abby takes a swig at her beer, wipes the sweat collecting on the palm of her hands. When you get closer, she notices the engraving of A.A. engraved on a glimmering silver ring. 

Did you keep it after all this time? 

“Tell her to leave—” 

“Hazel, for the love of god, would you shut your mouth?” Ellie barks as you make your way over to Abby. 

Abby tries to make her resolve hard, icy even, but it’s not. Her electrified blue eyes are warm, full of curiosity and wonder, her freckled cheeks are flushed from the heat of the sun and her barely there grin has you offering one of your own. 

“Abigail, hey.” 

Abby is surprised you hug her and she doesn't want to accept but it feels too rude not to. But the second her arms envelop around your body you fit perfectly into her. Just like all those years ago, you’re everything she loves. Like no time has passed, as if you didn’t rip her heart and stump out the love it once held. 

“It’s just Abby now.” Hazel interjects. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know, Abby, right.” 

“How could you? You’d have to be around—” 

Ellie gently elbows Hazel in the stomach, trying to silence her best efforts to scare you away from the treasury stock of a blonde she believes to be hers. 

“Abby, sorry. I’m just—” 

“You’ve always called me, Abigail. It’s alright. Promise.”

There she is. 

The charm that makes you fall when you don’t need to. It’s laughable that Abigail can make years of therapy, years of dating other people to get over her seem like a dream, as if it’d only just been the two of you all of this time. Like nothing had changed. 

But everything has. 

“Um, do you mind if we talk in private?” 

Abigail follows your lead into the empty house, the party rages outside as the two of you sit in the living room, neither of you knowing what way to take your best foot forward. 

“Sorry if I made things awkward with you and your girlfriend—” 

“Oh, uh, she’s not….we’re not dating or anything.” 

Shit. 

You wish she was. 

Abby doesn’t know what to think when the expression on your face wasn’t instant relief but instead turmoil within yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed as if you expected her to be in a relationship. It would leave you to escape from the overflow of feelings you had rushing through your core. 

“You look shocked.” 

“I just—” You bite your lip, looking anywhere but her, trying to put your best foot forward, like your father says, he’s the whole reason this conversation is even happening. “I can’t lie, it would have made this…easier? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” 

“What are you trying to do?” Abby has a bubbly laugh threatening to burst but she swallows it for the sake of your dignity. 

“Okay, well that’s not nice.” 

“Do you want me to be?” 

“Well, my dad he just thought that—” 

“Wait, you’re talking to me because of your dad?” Abby stands up from the couch, rubbing her hands over her flushed face. “Not even because it’s been years, but because — well, why?” 

“He was just encouraging me. I’m nervous, isn’t that fucking obvious? I can’t even look at you without feeling like I’m eighteen again.” 

She’s standing at her tall height, looking down at you as you begin to cry. 

Well shit. 

“Hey, hey—” Abby sinks to the floor on her knees, her body between your legs. “C’mon, there’s no need for all of that.” 

“I hate that you haven’t changed.” 

“Did you want me to?” 

No, you say just to yourself. Not trusting the waver of your voice to give her the truth. There’s always so much on the line with her. Everything feels heavy, final, an anchor to hold you down but also drag everything you are, tangled with her sweet, honey-filled baby blues. 

“Can’t you be mean to me or something? Even the playing field a little bit.” 

“Not even a little, sweetheart. We both know I never could.” Her fingertips trace your forearm, a shiver courses throughout your body, “I will admit, everyone says I should.” 

“They’re right. I deserve it.” 

“If we all got what we deserved, well, that would be such an ugly world, wouldn’t it? Just because you did something hurtful doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you human.” 

“But I do deserve the cruelty.” 

“Fine, I hate you.” Abby says with a smirk on her face, wiping away a stray tear, looking too fondly on the woman who broke her heart. She’s too kind for her own good. 

The giggle Abby omits rivals sunshine. 

“I just didn’t want it to affect the work on the house, everything between us, it’s complicated and I’ll be in the guest house while my mom’s—” 

“I know, you don’t have to say it. Your dad may have mentioned it to me. I’m sorry, I truly am.” 

“I am too. For everything. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I was so young, scared, and I wanted you to hate me. It just seemed easier than having you actually miss me.” 

“I did miss you.” Abby's warm palm might as well be burning your denim jeans through as she touches your thigh. “You could have done the worst thing imaginable and I still would have. I’ve never had, uh, reason with you I guess. Love doesn’t know scorn, like a child with a knife, even if you can get hurt — sometimes it’s worth it.” 

The stars in her blue eyes hold the same light in them, too full of love, her older and refined spirit lays beneath them and she has become someone you have even more love for. It’s too damning. Abigail Anderson has always been more than you can handle, always outshining everyone in this small town even if she couldn’t see it for herself. 

“I’m surprised you came back for them, you know, after everything.” 

It’s not just them. 

“They say she doesn’t have a lot of time, so—” You sigh heavily into your palms, “And that’s not your problem, but thank you for being so cool about everything. Maybe we can be friends?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Abby knows neither of you can’t. It’s never worked out that way. It’s all or nothing and she’s always been the all-in type of girl. She loves big, not caring if her own heart gets trampled in the process. 

Her love blinds like the sun, but it settles over your heart like the moonlight kissing the waves — you just hope the tide is strong enough to bring you home.

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ❞

The first few weeks back at home felt like a breath of fresh air. As much as you disdained being home, the cracks of your family nearly breaking you in the process, you had her. 

Even if you didn’t really have her. 

The definite silence was not so, Abby still soaked in her warm heart, the one you hoped she kept. The best part of her. She’s too kind, even when you don’t deserve it, she still freely gives it. 

It bleeds into her work. 

Clearly, your father was more than fond of her. Several occasions they would be chumming it up, your father even grilling a few patty hamburgers up for them both when the clock struck noon. They always did love her, possibly even more than you, but to say they were devastated about the break would be a tragic understatement. 

Get her back. 

She’s a prize in this town. 

Abigail Anderson is the best you can do, you’re not doing better than Dr. Anderson’s daughter. 

But you never did try. You trusted the universe as a sign given. The people driving you out of this town sided with the woman you had broken up with, so you left and didn’t look back twice. 

Yet, she did, in more ways than you were even aware of. 

Because of her stupidly built physique, you couldn’t stop looking. 

Anchored into the heat, her muscles constrict as she helps the crew demo the tile of the master suite, the last touch of the renovation needs. Besides the final paint job in the guest house, Abby had finished it all. In all honesty, Abby was hoping all of it would be complete by the time you arrived back in town. Being around you on a daily basis, her friends telling her it’s only a matter of time before she’s back in your arms, it feels like a slap in the face. 

As if she has no self restraint. 

To be fair, she doesn’t. 

Abby’s gone to lunch with you three times, had coffee with you once, and she exhibits her obsessive memory — still having your order memorized — even if it's the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard of. She still finds herself stuck between your teeth like cotton candy. 

It’s all friendly, supposedly, but it’s the easiest thing to slip back. 

Old habits do die hard. 

Right now, you’re just watching her work. 

You’ve been doing it a lot lately. 

Out of habit, nervousness, maybe it’s the anxiety flooding through your bloodstream. All of this feels erasable. Too much thrown at you, with her, it always happens to be too irreplaceable. 

The ghost you’ve been running from, the one that hides in the shadow, even if you’ve tried to stay on the path you’ve created. Dug from the ashes of all your failures, she’s the one thing you haven’t made right. The nights where you got too drunk, nearly texting her or calling her, the picture you still curated in a specific folder, the one you would look for when you’re the weakest. 

Being back in your hometown, the first person who ever truly loved you, it feels suffocating. 

It doesn’t help that she looks so good. Or that she’s even kinder. The love in her eyes is even more whole-hearted than they were ten years ago. Part of you tells yourself you couldn’t even help yourself if you tried. This is just how it’s supposed to be. The heartbreaker pining for the woman’s heart you shattered into pieces. 

All it took, a few cups of coffee and Abby taking you to lunch and paying — it feels awfully like a date but you keep your mouth shut. Her being present in your life is already confusing enough; the added weight would just be unbearable. 

But after today, you won’t see her again. Painting the final room in the guest house is the last duty she has to fulfill and the renovation is done on your parent’s property. The ache in the pit of your stomach is unsettling as you attempt to simmer through and wonder why the pain becomes so deep. As if the woman in front of you was scorning you alive. 

“You need something or are you gonna stare at me all day?” 

You watch Abby throw the paint roller back in the tray, running the brush in the sage green, before turning the attention back to the wall, waiting for you to respond. 

“No, I wasn’t staring.” Abby chuckles at that. 

Chuckles. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

If you could see her pouty lips, you’re sure that they’d be pulled into a smirk. Lately, she’s been enjoying this too much. Catching you staring at her for too long, biting the precious bottom lip of yours as she’s putting her muscles to work or when you caught her peeling the sweaty tank of her body for a new one, every inch of her skin glowing in the wake of the blistering sun. 

Her abdomen, toned with a not so subtle four pack, her v-line defined as it disappears into her jeans. It’s sickening. Really. It is. She catches your self control slipping through the cracks, dignity along with it as you give in to her adonis-like physique. 

The shock going through your body, going completely still as Abby just chuckles, winking at you before she goes about her day. Like it was nothing, like this is a normal occurrence for her. You’re not sure what thought made you feel even more sick. 

Women fawning over her or what happened after. 

But you didn’t have a right, you know you didn’t. 

You swallowed the unflattering buzz of sweeping jealousy until you couldn’t feel in anymore. It’s not an emotion you even deserve to feel. While the two of you had been getting closer the longer you spent with each other, you knew your boundaries well enough to know you still weren’t there, you never would be. 

The ghosts from your past made damn sure of it. 

“I can pose for you if you’re going to keep looking.” 

“I wasn’t—” 

Abby wipes the mixture of sweat, oils, and paint on the pair of old blue-denim. She lets her blonde hair out of the bun she wore, despite the icy temperature, her body runs warm. 

“It’s okay to admit it.” 

“Admit what?” Suddenly you become defensive, arms crossing over your chest. 

“That you’re still attracted to me.” Abby takes your curves in and nearly blows a low whistle, “You’re awful at hiding it.” 

“I-I’m not, this isn’t….you’re not, like, easy to look at, you know? Uh, ummm….” 

Standing there like an idiot as you struggle to get the words out, nearly impossible to get them released, your mouth staggering, unable to even keep them shut as Abby stalks you, your body pressed against the kitchen counter, the new one she installed days ago. 

Nothing comes out on the way you intend it to. Fuck. Did you offend her? 

“I’m not?” 

She whispers into your ear, her lips ghosting your skin. A free hand plays with the buckle of your belt before she pulls you closer by the fastened leather. It’s soft to the touch, making her want to sink her teeth into you, until her canines break the surface of your skin, claiming you as hers once again. 

Abby thinks about removing it off you, bending you over the counter and punishing you for it or even fastening the belt around your neck, pulling you along until you’re right where she pleases. The craving in the pit of her belly only stirs into an unmanageable peace the longer you stand there — squirming with satisfaction — waiting to be put out of your misery. 

Golden locks tickle your jaw, the static energy radiating off of her shocks your skin, goosebumps come alive on every inch of you as she makes her presence known. One fact you haven’t been able to shake, Abby Anderson is a force to be reckoned with. Ten years, ten full years, and your life means nothing now that she’s right in front of you. 

“Abigail, I don’t really think this is a good idea.” Abby waits for you to push her away, but instead you place your hands around her forearms but she’s so big, and it’s intoxicating that she stands taller than you. Her biceps the size of your head, veins protruding as she flexes, as if it didn’t make matters worse. 

“Then why don’t you just admit it?” Abby presses her pelvis even closer to yours and you wonder if you’re hallucinating the barely-there kiss to below your ear. “You want me just as much as you did back then. Ten years apart won’t change that. You still care about me, even though you wish you didn’t, you do.” 

“Abigail, we can’t go there, we both are—” 

“What? I’ve always been a patient girl. I can wait.” Loudly, you groan as she peppers kisses down your neck, before scratching at her skin, when she kisses the one spot behind your ear she certainly didn’t forget about. 

Abby digs her teeth in as you hiss, she enjoys the thrill of your soft whimpers, she’s barely started and you’re giving her just what she needs. The two of you know it, there isn’t a fix for this, the thread of a craving pulls until it’s fed. 

“Oh–” 

Rough hands hoist you on the counter top as she slots herself between your thighs, her frame protecting you as if you were a wild animal trying to be saved from extinction. The greed in Abby’s palm finds salvation when she touches exposed skin, silk to the touch — it doesn’t feel quite as sinful as she’s been told. 

She should hate you, right? 

You hurt her, didn’t look back twice, and you’ve never been the same. 

All of this is just a facade. The life you have, the future you always dreamed of building is thousands of miles from here and she just doesn’t fit within it anymore, everyone tells her she never did. A missing puzzle piece with a jagged edge, the more Abby tries to fit with your world, the further she pushes away. 

But she held onto the hope that your world no longer fit you and maybe — like a fool who believes in their first dream — she could be your world again. 

Sparkling, honey-blues dazzle their way into your heart once again, reminding you of everything you love, striking a reminder through your soul of just what you had hurt. The life you stole, the one you wanted to so desperately have but fear still swarms you. The memory doesn’t feel so distant, the past isn’t the past but lies as a reminder of the blood still staining your hands. 

With hesitance, you hold her full-freckled cheeks in your palms with a delicate hand, fearful any touch from you would burn her in the process. 

“Do you think this is a good idea?” You bite into the isolating air, threatening to swarm your soul but she finds you first. Abby’s warm breath feeds into the need blossoming like a seed rooted in soil, solidifying the growth of budding salvation. 

“I don’t know. Do you?” 

She’s so sweet on you, even as the trickle of poison burns her, Abby would gladly let it absorb every inch of her skin if it meant this. The wondrous arrival of a love once lost, her heart torn right down the middle. Unsure if giving into reason or a festered dream. 

It all grabs a hold of her the same, unwillingly to release her from the pure agony she feels when you’re not around. More dramatic than she intended it to be, the dagger once pushed through her heart, exerting every drop of blood until she felt unsatisfied iron saturating her tongue. 

She would even show gratitude if you let her. 

“Everything I think I know changes when you’re involved, so no, I don’t.” 

Leaning into your touch, Abby swears into the palm of your hand, her hands smooth over the fabric of your pants and your entire skin leaves a trail of fire anywhere her large, calloused hand scorns you. The weight of her love feels heavy, as it always has, but the temptation to carry every ounce of it is heavier than it’s been in years. 

With a terror in your chest, you blurt out the first thought entering you mind.  “You’ve aged really well, can barely tell you’re hitting thirty.” 

“Oh yeah? I can think of a few ways to show you.” 

Shit. 

A rapid heartbeat ready to burst, you’re not sure if it’s you or her. She’s inching closer, lips ghosting yours, her minty-ice breath makes home over yours. With a slight graze, you inhale a sharp breath, read for her to lean into you. 

Slam! 

“Am I interrupting something?” Immediately, you push Abby off of you, a judging pair of eyes scanning the two of you. 

The woman from the party looked like she could actually kill you with her bare hands. Then there’s Ellie sitting there grinning like the joker, one giggle away from sounding like the maniac himself. As if she was fully aware this would happen. The two of you are running off of pure animal instinct, unable to keep your hands off one another. 

“Abby? What’s going on?” The snip in the woman’s voice is evident, so is the possession she so clearly feels over your ex-girlfriend. The jealousy you feel over the thought sends an unwanted shiver up your spine. 

Then she’s looking at you, expecting you to disintegrate into nothing right in front of her. Like you had done something terribly wrong. 

Didn’t Abby say she’s single? 

“Chill out, Hazel.” Ellie rolls her eyes, smirking at the steam practically boiling out of Hazel’s ears. “Ready for that drink? Dina and Jesse are already waiting.” 

“Uh—” She looks back at you, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Yeah, can you just give me a sec?” 

“But I really think we should—” 

“Down Hazel, god, you’re worse than a dog. They clearly were about to suck each other’s faces off. Move it.” 

Hazel clearly looks offended as she desperately looks at Abby, hoping for her to save a little bit of dignity but Abby just punches the bridge of her nose as Ellie escorts out an extremely frigid Hazel. 

Abby doesn’t miss the way the woman who has far too big of a crush on her tries to shoot daggers into you but you’re too busy focused on plucking your overgrown cuticles. 

As soon as the door shuts you bend over the counter, forehead pressed into the white marble of the island, settling for a frustrated groan even when you want to scream. 

“That bad, huh?” Abby stands behind you, watching as you lose it in front of her. 

“Your friends already hate me, was that really fucking needed?” 

There’s an itching, envious need to ask why Hazel seems to be protective over Abby, borderlining on obsession, but you keep your mouth tight lipped. Even if it’s the first thing ready to roll off your tongue. 

“They’re fine, Hazel is just—” 

“Protective.” You avoid her as she smirks, clearly enjoying the clear look of jealousy in your beautifully bright eyes. 

“Oh?” Abby is grinning, pearly whites shining as majestic as the moon. “I didn’t think you’d even feel like that about me.” 

As if it's instinct, she can’t stop how much she’s loving this. One moment of her lips on your skin and suddenly you want her all to yourself. Your head is spinning and her stupid, blue eyes won’t stop looking at you like a divine treasure. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” 

You never did well with things out of your control, never really could. It’s why all of it ended the way it did. If you couldn’t somehow manipulate into what you wanted, it faded until you couldn’t hear it any longer. Abby faded into the noise, into your past, but maybe she is the noise and for the first time in ten years you can finally hear. 

“You don’t have to say anything but you can come with me.” 

“With your friends?” Abby nods. 

“All of your friends hate me and one looks like she might actually kill me. Why on earth would you think that’s a good idea?” 

“All of them are adults. They’ll handle just fine besides,  I want you there.” As soon as Abby says those words, your harsh seamer softens, rejection melts and dissipates from your vocabulary. She’s always been a difficult person to say no to. “You could use some social interaction, you don’t even leave this guest house.” 

“How did you know that?” 

“I have eyes?” Abby states it as more of a question, a giggle threatening to bubble out. 

“Oh god.” Abby laughs as she takes off her tool belt before finding her jacket and slipping it on her body. Grabbing her keys on the counter, looping the carabiner on the loop of her weathered denim. 

“Ready?”  

There’s a look of uncertainty in your eyes, nearly bleeding into an unwillingness to bend, but her words reassure you before you even get a chance to explain. As if she settled in your heart ten years ago and never left. 

“Don’t worry, okay? If anyone’s mean to you, I’ll set them straight, Cherry.” 

The nickname falls off her tongue, the sentiment hits you like a tsunami of emotion, bringing you back to every loving emotion she exposed to you for the first time. 

It shouldn’t cut you this deep but it will — she always will. 

❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 ❞

March 26th, 2013 

“C’mon dance with me!” Abby screams over the loud music of the party. Fluorescent lights, a disco ball and tequila raged through her body, the alcohol pumping through her veins as she finally mustered the liquid courage to talk with the girl she’s been crushing on all sophomore year. 

Her friends had been teasing her all night about it, but when the girl looked at her in disgust, shoulder checking her into oblivion, she couldn't help but take it to heart. Her blue eyes swell with tears, a waterfall raging within her as she makes her way to the bathroom, puking out her dinner at her father’s house. 

So much for prom night, right? 

Making a beeline for the bathroom, with yet another rejection to check off the list, stupid fucking after party she lied to her dad about going to. It’s all so stupid, of course Lacey wouldn’t be into someone like her. No one likes her, no one ever will, she’s just the lame screw up in this town who can’t like boys, not when the rest of the girls in the wretched town do. 

Even if her dad tells her, it’s what makes her special — it’s a bunch of horse shit. 

So, in the home of the girl she confessed her undying love for, she pukes her guts out in the bathroom until there’s a knock at the door and a soft yet concerned shout that follows. “Hey, are you okay? Sounds a little rough in there!” 

“Shit,  yeah, just one second…” Abby collects herself taking off her jacket as she rolls up the sleeves, residue of what she chucked up on the cuff of her shirt. Quickly, she rinses off and roles the sleeves up. 

Well, it didn’t get any more embarrassing than this. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can get someone it’s really not a pro—” 

Without a further beat, the door is swung open. Abby suspects to see someone she knows, but she doesn’t. It’s a fresh face and she’s never been more grateful. The eyeliner she thought Lacey would like was probably smudged all over her face, Abby had no doubt she probably resembled someone operating an oil rig of some kind. 

Just as Abby tries to talk, she feels another round come up and she runs to the toilet, sinking to her knees as more bile comes out. Way to go Anderson, you’ve managed to utterly humiliate yourself in front of two beautiful women tonight. Truly, there should be some type of an award for being the dumbest idiot on the planet. 

Somehow, she knows all of this will come back to bite her in the ass. There’s no way that she isn't the complete laughing stock of the high school until she walks across the stage in two years with a diploma on hand. Whoever you are, you’re sure you’ll tell the entire town. 

A stupid pathetic lesbian who can’t have one good night to save her life. 

One of the most important nights of her life. 

But she doesn’t hear a mockery laugh, a snide comment…she isn't even met with pure disgust. The third and fatal option. There’s a comforting hand on her back, reassuring her everything will be just fine, the other holding her hair into  a makeshift ponytail, ensuring there isn't a single strand getting tied into the mess of her sickness. 

By the time Abby’s done, she feels even more humiliated, her body running hot, cheeks aflame but you’re already running warm water underneath the towel folded on the shelf above the toilet. Kneeling down again, you angle her by the jaw, wiping the residue off her lips and you carefully wash away the black eyeliner smeared all over her freckled-cheeks. 

For a second, Abby notices you staring at her pouty lips but she doesn’t say a word about it. 

Turned out so wonderful the first time…

“Here!” You pull from your pocket, a pack of red labeled gun, cherry flavored, and pull out one piece wrapped in paper-tin foil. “For your, you know, breath.” 

“Is this your nice way of telling me I have bad breath?” Abby teases, one moment with a pretty stranger, and she already felt more like herself. Abby takes a piece of gum, unraveling the piece before shoving the strip into her mouth. 

“Well, you did puke.” 

Regretfully she chews as the taste turns sweet instead of mint, her face contorts in rejection but still she chews. It’s not exactly what she had in mind. 

“You don’t like Cherry flavored? That’s just bad taste!” You grab a piece of gum for yourself, throwing the piece of paper in the trash, consuming it wholeheartedly, almost moaning as you put on a show. 

“Whatever you say, Cherry.” The sun might as well be shining on you from just how warm you feel. Heat rising in your heart, blossoming through your chest, thriving from the attention of the sun, 

“Hey! That’s not fair. I don’t know your name.” 

“Well, I don’t know yours either…” Abby hints, tilting her head to the side with a smirk the size of Texas. For once, she finds this easy, talking to a pretty girl, flirting with a pretty girl — proving it didn’t always have to be so hard to have something this good. 

“Call me Cherry, it’s better than my real one, trust me.” You smile sweetly, fully willing to rot each tooth if it means you could feel like this. “What’s yours?” 

“Abigail.” 

The two of you just stare at each other like idiots, two losers, two outcasts and all of it started to make sense. Every heartache dealt out by careless handlers of the heart, each person who made you feel small, unworthy, who knew all of it could be healed by looking into the brightest pair of blue eyes, the warmest, full of honey and marvelous wonder. 

It feels wonderful, being this close to a feeling, a lover's dream in the sunshine of spring, kissing shoulders never exposed to the brightful joy, freckles sprouting like bees flees to honey. One more kiss of sunshine until the sweetness falls on your tongue, guiding you to the spirit of love and everything you ever lost. 

One person, one perfect person who makes your youth scream of joy again. Jumping off a cliff, plummeting into the cool ocean without second thought, hoping they’ll be there to jump off it with you. Even if it takes a lifetime of waiting — you’d wait your entire life for her. 

As long as she’s in the sun, freckles being painted by pure light, you’d soak in the sun right along with her. 

“Thank you.” She squeaks out the words so small, you nearly miss it. 

“There’s no need for thanking. Just doing the right thing s’all.” Your smile is so sweet, Abby nearly feels every part of her body rotting with sugar. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“There was just this girl and I really thought she liked me but she really didn’t and I have this thing where I get a lot of anxiety or nervous I kind of just puke. It’s totally lame, god, I can’t wait to get out of this place.” 

“Me too. High school sucks.” You agree with her, offering a small smile as you finish cleaning her up. “But she’s totally lame for not seeing how great you are.” 

Abby tries not to blush, but she can’t hit the crimson swell painting the apples of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Did you try to kiss her or something?” 

“I didn’t really get that far, she wouldn’t even dance with me. Not here, not prom, guess I’m not cool enough for her.” Pushing the metal frame of her glasses up her nose, trying to stop herself from biting into her blunt nails, nearly drawing blood. Now that she’s come down from her puking fest, she sees how beautiful you are. The kind of beauty that would bring her to her knees if Abby wasn’t already there. 

“Cool is overrated. Who cares about being cool? We’re all losers trying to figure it out.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, as if you’re confident in exactly who you want to be. Abby is envious of it. She wonders what it’s like to be so free — to not wonder what everyone is constantly thinking about you — if you’re good enough. 

You don’t seem to care. 

“If you still wanna dance, I’d dance with you. We can be losers together.” You offer up to her as you stand to your feet, offering a hand up to her and she takes it willingly. You grab the jacket to her suit, helping her slip into it and she smoothes the jacket over her frame. 

“You really don’t have to—” But you look at her with the most absurd gaze of refusal, eyebrows furrowed as it makes this cute little line between them.  Abby can’t help but admire it. 

“Oh, we’re going to fucking dance and show whoever this bitch is just what she’s missing.” 

Present day. 

There’s a lot to be said for how you let yourself succumb to her again, it didn’t take much, just a batting of blonde eyelashes and irresistible pouty lips and you’d fallen victim to Abigail Anderson. The hardest thing you’ve ever done was leave her. All these years later, you’re right back to where you were before all of this had started. 

It seems to shock all of her friends when the two of you walk on together and even more shocking when Abby throws her arm behind you, engaging in conversation here and there. Mostly, you tune out the conversation and mindlessly sip on the beer in front of you. 

Hazel isn’t happy about the predicament, cold brown eyes sport a simmering guidance of rage as she watches Abby’s fingers on your shoulder tracing random patterns into your skin. The arrival of your presence in turn makes her take jabs at you all night. Even with your silence, it doesn’t stop her, and when you have no visceral reaction she finally goes for something that brings silence around the entire table. 

“Why are you even here? Breaking Abby’s heart wasn’t enough the first time? Why don’t you run back to your sick mother and stop playing with people just because it’s fun for you.” Hazel bites and you feel the swarm of your tears begin to build and she keeps going, “Isn’t that why you came back? Not because you actually care but because your mom is going to die.” 

“Sorry, excuse me—” Hazel scoffs as you slither away and head towards the bathroom. As if she’s accomplished, she sips on her margarita, like what she just did was a service to everyone here. 

Ellie and Dina sit there in shock, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. Jesse sits there silently, discomfort written all over his face. But Abby? She’s filled with a soaring hot rage, face flushed violet as her knuckles turn white. Hazel immediately shrinks into the booth, unprepared for what’s about to happen. 

She thought Abby would be happy, kicking someone who so wrongly hurt her to the curb. You didn’t deserve her. You never would. Hazel deserves you. She’s been here, waiting for Abby to see her and love her, not you. 

“What the fuck is your problem? Cherry wasn’t even doing a goddamn thing and you’ve been attacking them all damn night.” Abby’s rage is palpable, steaming to the touch, and nothing like any of them have ever seen. 

“I did this for you! She treated you horribly! She broke your heart! She deserves it.” 

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, tossing her head against the wall, “This has got to fucking stop. Cherry broke up with me goddamn ten years ago and it’s none of your business.” Hazel could practically see the steam rolling off her before Abby raised her voice even more, “You didn’t have a right to bring up her mom regardless of whatever happened. Jesus, if I want to be around her or want Cherry around, everyone here is just going to have to fucking deal.” 

“Abby, we’re just trying to look out for you. Cherry only ever thinks about herself.” 

“Well fucking don’t. I can handle myself despite whatever you think I can deal with. Stay the fuck away from her or you’ll live to regret it.” 

Throwing a twenty on the table to cover her tab, she finds you washing your face, trying to get rid of the puffiness in your eyes. When you see her, you turn her away, a lame attempt to stop her from seeing you like this. 

Weak. Overbearing. A winded rush pressing on your lungs, struggling to breathe — you didn’t need any of this. Not to be back right where it all destroyed you. Then here she is, the living reminder of your transgressions, your failure, the one thing you couldn’t fix. 

All roads lead to her. All of it is sick and twisted. The look of love pierces through your soul, scouring through the place you keep hidden under lock and key; the part that still loves her. 

It demands attention. To be heard. To be seen. To violate you and your dreams, to place her before everything else. A violent reminder of how all of this started. Before you could catch up with the tide, everything flips, your entire life becomes a reflection of what you feared. 

Abby has her life together and yours is coming apart. 

Everyone hates you for what you become. For how little you cared about leaving the first twenty years of your life behind, a chapter closed and discarded as if it never existed to you in the first place. 

“Let me take you home, alright? I’m sorry for Hazel she’s—” 

“It’s fine.” You cut her off, drying your eyes, or trying to but you can’t stop crying in the first place. “It was stupid of me to agree to this.” 

“You aren’t stupid, sorry, she was being a cunt. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen.” 

Abby carefully wipes your tears away, “Hey, let’s get out of here. Yeah? My place is just up the street. Just the two of us.” 

You nod as Abby leads you out, her palm feels welcoming in your grip, a homecoming you have been dying to feel. Her touch feels warm, perfect as her fingers interlock with your own. Like no time has passed, it’s easy for you to slip back into her grasp. 

Everything about her feels right. When she helps you get in her truck, the old one her father always wanted to renovate and it seems she did just that. The ride is only a couple minutes before she’s parking in the garage of her home. She opens the door for you, a hand on your back as she leads you towards the door leading into her house. 

What you expect to be a farmhouse, a hint of southern barn meets boho chic, but you’re met with something else entirely. 

It’s exactly what she talked about building growing up. Everything else feels modern except the cherry red kitchen with white accents and marble countertops. There’s cherries everywhere, but it’s subtle enough to the naked eye, you wouldn’t blink twice.

The memory comes back to you in a hot flash, one you weren’t fond of. 

“We can have it all. I’ll buy you a damn house, I’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need, I want this, Cherry. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I love you, please, can’t you see a future with both of us?” 

“But I don’t want to be here. You know that! My dad can hardly look at me because I’m with a woman, my mom tries but she doesn’t understand. Is this the kind of life you want? They remind me that I’m not good enough. Who I love isn’t good enough, not if I’m not with a man. Can you understand I’m dying to get out of this nothin’ town?” 

Abby gnaws at her bottom lip, teeth drawing blood as she sees you drawing within yourself. Pulling back at the first sign of hardship. Even Abby wonders if she’s worth fighting for. 

“You mean dying to get away from me? I’m in this nothin’ town you despise so much.” 

“Abigail, you’re taking words out of my mouth, that’s not what I’m saying.” 

“You just want to leave and I don’t.” You look at her, her adorable pout in a frown, arms she’s been bulking for the past couple years begin to show definition. The freckles she hates grew more prominent on her skin as she spent the summer working for father’s construction company. 

Her life is here, her future is here, but for once since the two of you met, your own two different paths and no matter how much you love her — it just won’t work. 

“We’re eighteen! Our entire lives are in front of us. I can’t stay here, Abigail. I just can’t. I dream of a big city, somewhere my stories will take me places, a life that I can’t find here.” 

“You got the scholarship, didn’t you?” Abby barks, her chest puffing out, jaw clenching as she pleads for you to tell her the truth. “Tell me the truth. You’ve been lying to me, hoping I’d change my mind?” 

“I wasn’t lying. I just—” 

“What? You were just going to leave one morning and never come back? Like I mean nothing to you?” Abby removes her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Like the past two years have just been what? A way for you to pass time until your real life comes along. Fucking great.” 

“I told you from the start, I want more. I need to do more! No one gets into NYU around here and certainly not on a scholarship. I have a chance for a real future, a way out from my parents, a new life, I’ve always wanted this. You know I have.” 

“And I’ve always wanted you.” 

Silence engulfs the room, a pindrop could be heard, the tension could be cut with a knife but Abby sees the wall closing around you. Covering her from the heart you slowly opened up to her, what she fought tooth and nail for. She always fought for you but it’s hard to do anything when you don’t believe this is worth saving. 

“You don’t even have the decency to ask me.” 

“What?” 

“You just want to write me off. You lump me with everyone else because you don’t even give me the chance.” 

“What are you saying?” 

Abby’s blue eyes turn into ice, all the warmth void as the chill sends a shiver down your spine. Her throat feels tight, like even if she swallows her own spit she’ll choke. 

“Do you love me enough to make this work?” Abby flinches when you don’t immediately answer, because she knows where she stands, she would follow you across the world if it meant that’s what you wanted. To make you happy. But she can’t help but feel like she’s splitting herself apart for someone who doesn’t care in the way she does. 

With tears in your eyes, they cascade down your cheek before whispering to her, “I don’t.” 

“Get. Out.” She murmurs through clenched teeth, using the sleeve of her t-shirt, one you gifted her, to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The overflow of the heartache racked through her body like she’s never felt before. 

You don’t love her. You don’t love her. You never loved her. 

“Abs, please, don’t make me leave like this. Can we talk about this?” 

“What’s there to fucking talk about? We don’t love me, Cherry. What else is there to fucking say?” 

You nearly scream, not sure why anything you’re saying isn’t coming out the way you intended it to. “You’re not listening to me I—” 

“Right. You just need to find a man, right? God, you’re just like Lacey.” 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You bite, and if looks could kill, Abby would be dead right now. She’s struck a nerve, the memory of sophomore year comes flooding back to her, back when all of this started. “God, fuck you. How could you possible compare me to the straight girl that pulled you along because what she really wanted was Daniel Collins to fuck her so stupid she ended up pregnant junior year.” 

“You’re leaving, when your back is pressed up against a wall, you’ll always leave, Cherry.” 

“But I—” You stop yourself before you could speak the forbidden words, the ones you’ve said to her a million times, the one you just refuted that you did even if she can usually call you right on your bullshit. But you’ve diluted her sense of reasoning and all she hears is her girlfriend of two years just told her she doesn't love her. 

“You what? What other lies are you going to tell me?” 

“Fine.” Your expression turns stone cold, “Let’s both be done with it then. There’s nothing left to fight for.”  

Prideful ego gets in the way of what Abby wants and she finally lets her head speak for her, “Sounds good to me.” 

“Are you alright?” Abby asks but then she notices you’re just staring at her kitchen and she’s never been so self-conscious in her life. She didn’t even think about it, she’s so used to others seeing it but it’s different when your muse is taking in the craft you created with them in mind. 

“Oh, right, the cherries.” She stutters out, scratching the back of her neck as she turns the lights on. It smells of vanilla and something oak, just like she smelled in high school. To others it may seem boring but it’s refreshing to know she’s still the same as she was. 

“You still did it?” 

“Yeah, it’s kinda lame honestly, maybe I should have done something else but nothing ever fit right with the rest of the house so.” Abby pops open a beer, somehow needing to have some type of liquor while you gawk at the work she created with you in mind. “If I’m being honest, I think it was just a way for me to hold onto you. I sure didn’t think I would ever see you again.” 

“Me neither.” You answered truthfully, the loss of Abby rattled you, even though you were better at hiding it. Losing her is still the most painful loss you had to endure, which she considers fortunate, but not fortunate enough. “I always thought about what would have happened if I hadn’t been so headstrong. I think I had to convince myself in order to leave, I would have stayed here for you if not.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” Even if she pretends not to be, Abby’s still bitter. 

“Why?” 

“You always knew what you wanted out of life and that wasn’t me.” Abby chews on her bottom lip again, picking the label of the beer before taking another swig. “Hell, you left before I even got a chance to say goodbye.” 

“What?” Eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you take a step forward, “Did you come to the house?” 

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave things like that. Did you not—” 

“No, I didn’t know, I thought that was it. I didn’t expect there to be more for my sake.” 

The way she looks at you feels like she’s peering into her soul, the way she sees you so clearly, better than anyone ever has, chilling you to your core. Bits and pieces of your love located in eyes that glimmer only for her, light electrified the moment your sights are set on her. 

It feels like falling in love with a broken melody. 

You admire the imperfections instead of leaving at the bridge. 

“I waited on your porch for hours but then your parents came home, saying they just had gotten back from dropping you off.” 

In a matter of moments, your entire world feels flipped, like everything you had known for the last ten years, a terrible lie you wished to never know. A nightmare you would hope to wake up from. That’s all this was, you would wake up in her father’s home as you fought in the kitchen, you convince yourself not to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

“You came back for me?” 

Closing the space between the two of you, grabbing her beer and placing it on the countertop. Abby takes an intake of breath as you invade every part of her personal space. As corny as it sounds, you do smell of cherries. So sweet, her bones feel weak with need, as if she doesn’t inhale the sugar she’ll just crumble at your feet, begging for just one drop. 

“Yeah, I cried in front of your dad who hated me at the time, might I add. After that, he was kind, I think because he saw how much I…you know…” 

You remember how much he changed when you came home for the holidays three years later. Naturally, you always accepted he had just come around over time, but it wasn’t that at all — the weeps of your high school girlfriend convinced him. 

“Guess he saw how much I loved you or something…I don’t know…” She shrugs like it’s nothing. 

Like she's nothing; the careless lie you let her believe. 

Even with her dominating physical presence, she’s always been shy about this sort of thing. Expressing her feelings never really came easy, even if she wore them with her heart on her sleeve, admitting them was different than feeling them. 

“You changed his mind.” 

“He would have gotten there eventually. I’m sure he liked whoever you dated after me.” 

“Hm.” You grimly laugh, “He didn’t. Not the two I brought home but he always spoke fondly of you, he definitely likes you better then he enjoys his own kid.” 

Patient she is watching you process the information, it’s almost too much for her to swallow. What if you had been home when she was going to say goodbye? Would this be your home with her? The dreams of kissing her in the kitchen, cherry inspired, the family home she always wanted to build for the two of you. Now she’s here with no one but herself. Withering away the soul of a woman who only wanted love. 

“He loves you and if he doesn’t, that’s his loss. Trust me, I know it too well.” 

The confession hangs on the walls like a memorial, taking a trip down memory lane, or more like the hell of your own making. Demons you conjured cast over your past as if they only exist in hollow halls. The deeper you go, the more your heart slivers in the cracks of her delicate grip. For the first time, you don’t mind when she presses on your heartbeat — demanding more with just looking at you the way she does. 

The way she always has. 

“Do you still love me?” 

“Are you going to run away if I tell you?” 

Lips ghost over you, her breath hits your face, making it flush with heat. She leans against the counter, wrapping your back with one of her arms, tugging you close to her. 

“Abby, I’m a mess.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what my family is going to look like or my future.” 

“I know.” 

“Abigail, would you stop saying that?” 

“I’ve only ever cared about you, I don’t care if your life is together. I’m here and I—” She dips her head to kiss down your neck, decorating your collarbones with her lips as she creates a map back to where she wants to the most, “will take care of you.” 

Abby kisses you like the air in her lungs is expendable, as she has endless amounts to give. That’s all she is love, pouring into every ounce of you that she can find. With desperate abandon, she wants to wipe your memory of every wrong she ever did you — she only wants to remind you of the reason why she loves you. Maybe it’ll be enough for you to wake up in her arms again. 

For once, she might be enough. 

“We don’t have to do this, I don’t know what it all means and—” 

“Right now? I don’t fucking care.” Abby leeches off your neck, kissing and delicately sucking, grazing her sharp teeth against sensitive skin. “I just want you.” 

Thoughtless abandon goes out the window as she guides you back into her apartment, off the spacious balcony and corners you into her room. Letting you fall on her bed as she stands above you, as she strips in front of you. Making a show of it, torturing you for sport, before she goes in for the kill. 

The alcohol still alive in your mind as she pulls off, a freckled maze maps its way all over her body. The subtle blonde happy trails travels underneath her navel and disappears beneath the fabric of her denim jeans. Your own self-control begins to slip, but Abby is too concerned with evening out the playing field. Even if this is a long-lasting goodbye, she’s going to make it last. 

Slipping your trousers down your legs, she’s met with cotton boxers — soaked all the way through. 

“Is that all for me?” Abby snaps the waistband against your skin as you squirm underneath your touch, bucking your hips into the air. Impossibly desperate for her touch. 

“Y-Yes, It’s for—” Irrevocably your eyes roll back into your skull, “Abigail, oh shit, shit, shitttt.”  

Sneaking a hand in your boxers, she opens up your inviting folds, slippery and as Abby glides along, collecting your slick with the calloused fingers. You squirm and shift, bucking into her hand, waiting for more to be given to you. 

“Just say my name like that pretty girl, so good for me, aren’t you?” Abby removes her hand as she pulls your boxers off your legs and without being asked she slides them down your legs as she pushes your shirt up to your tits, exposing the swell of your breasts to her possessive eyes, waiting to lay claim onto what she’s missed for the past ten years. 

“I wonder if you’re just as…” Abby takes a beat before rubbing over your hard nipple along her tongue, her denim-glad thigh grinding against your thigh as she suckles at your breasts. “Sensitive.” 

She moans into your skin, using her free hand to play with your pussy, soft strokes to your clit as she elicits more moans from you. The force of her strength and weight keeps you down, the stutter of your hips chasing her fingers. 

“My pretty baby, not so mean and bossy anymore, huh?” She bites your nipple gently before whispering in your ear, “Did you miss me that much?” 

“I just want more, please.” 

In any other circumstance, she happily would make you pay for it. Wait even, but if she doesn’t have you in her mouth for another second, she won’t survive. You’re so beautiful, you’re perfect in every conceivable way. The years had in fact been kind to you, different from what she knew when the two of you had sex but god, she thinks you’re even more exquisite now. 

“More?” Abby removes what remains of her clothing, leaving you to gawk at her muscled frame, small tits frame her chest perfectly. “How about you sit on my face, angel? How does that sound?” 

She’s already made you come twice, just on her tongue alone, pushing for a third as she holds you by the waist, waiting for your overstimulated body to give into her once more. 

Abby makes everyone look inadequate when it comes to her, no one could touch you like this, fuck you like this, slither their talent tongue inside your waiting hold as you take her out for a ride. Muffled moans against your dripping cunt sends shivers throughout your spine, body twitching as you feel yourself hurling closer to the edge. 

You can’t help but ride her face as your head lies on the bundle of curves covering her mound and you’ve been too fucked out the entire time to do anything but you can’t help but notice the way her patient cunt is shining with her slick. Curiosity blooms within you as you notice the slight thrust of her hips, chasing a part of you that isn’t there. 

With no sudden warning, you vigorously rub on her wet folds, applying pressure on her bundle of nerves as you spread her sweet juices along her puffed lips. 

“Baby, nghhh, oh my god.” Abby slurps as she sucks your clit into her mouth before you fall right over the edge again. Her eager tongue fucks your through it with her tongue, letting your ride the high as your nails scratch her stomach, marking her as yours once again. 

Abby helps your weak body slide down her legs, flipping you over as your pussy falls against her, her legs spread open as your head rests against her sternum, feeling the increased rate of her heart beat thump against her chest. 

She smooths her hand over your hair, gorgeous hypnotic eyes pull at Abby’s heart. “We should get some sleep.” 

“We can…unless you want to entertain a thought I’m having.” Abby raises her eyebrow as rotate your hips, clit bumping against hers as she throws her head back, a string of curses fall from her lips as she grips onto your hips. Happily, she lets you take control, pushing her strong leg over your shoulder as you glide against her soaked pussy. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, holy fucking shit—” 

Perfect tits bouncing as you rock your hips against her movement, the more you look in her eyes, you feel yourself yearning for another release. It’s never been this good, never with anyone. The moans she whispers, kept in the secret coven of your love, the spells she casts to keep you near — it trumps anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Keep looking at me, Abigail.” The whine of her full name, only ever falling from your lips, the most wonderful symphony. It’s intoxicating how much she loves it. How much she loves you. Deep in her bones, even if she tries her best to pull away, she knows not a damn thing will ever compare to this. For this life and the next, she’ll be searching for you in everyone she meets. 

She can’t live another moment with you. Not after ten years of agony, fuck no, she needs you like she needs oxygen to breathe. You’re not sure how long it takes, but you don’t forget how Abby looks at you with a tender heart that basically pours out of her. 

“Baby, please. N-N-gh, I need you.” You push her forward, hitting a deeper angle than you were before until you hear just how wet she is with your forehead pressed against hers, “Show me how my pretty girl comes, yeah? Need a reminder, princess.” 

Abby moans out your name, her body fucking up into you, slithering her convulsing cunt against your clit as her defined abdomen twitches and only relaxes when you follow her lead, you body collapsing on her. Two hearts beats become one as the two of you fall asleep, a quiet whisper of I love you, but you’re not sure if it falls from your lips or hers. 

The morning air breathes lilies and fresh espresso, her sweet cinnamon cologne lingers in her sheets, where she held you all night with her heavenly embrace. Reality sinks in and then you’re afraid once again. You slip one of her button up shirts on, pulling on a pair of her sweats before your feet are met with the cool wooden floors. 

She’s sitting there, those stupid glasses she apparently didn’t get rid of. Making her look stupid cute as she read the velvet-green covered book in her large palms. 

It’s easy for her to tell how you feel, Abby knows you too well as she watches you with cautious eyes. You’re so afraid of it all. Always, you’ve been afraid of what she makes you feel, how close she pushes you to the edge of no return. A love you feel helpless to, especially when it eats you from the inside out. 

“Do you wanna leave? I can take you home.” Abby doesn’t even look up from her book, she sounds annoyed, completely different than her vulnerable demeanor last night. It puzzles you when she closes herself off. 

“Am I missing something? Did I do something wrong?” 

Abby folds her book, marking the page on the sharp corner before she takes off her glasses. “You don’t owe me anything if that’s what you’re worried about. You felt like you didn’t before. You in all your city glory.” 

Something happened. 

“Abby, what’s going on?” 

“You tell me.” She places your phone on the table and it’s the email detailing of your new book tour in Europe. One that lasts the better part of the year. 

“You snooped through my phone?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it was mine, okay? I would never do that.” Abby sighs, “I really didn’t mean to fucking look. I just, it’s happening all over again, I’m losing you over something. I’m never what you pick and I can’t ever be enough for you. Even Hazel was right! All you do is hurt me and it’s my fault because I let you. I can’t keep chasing you. It’s a stupid dream I’m too dumb enough to let go of.” 

“So, that’s it? Last night was just what? A mistake?” 

“I didn’t say that—” 

“But you did! Fuck, I should have known things wouldn’t change.” 

“You should have known? This is the same reason why you left me. I’ll lose you, again, to something I can’t compete with. The both of us know it to be true. At least have the decency to admit it.” 

“Do you want me to apologize? I did what I wanted! I have everything I wanted. This is everything I’ve worked towards for the best ten years—” 

“But you don’t—” Abby puffs out her chest, standing taller than she has since you’ve been back. The words spill just like you did the night before, “You didn’t get everything, you made sure of it the moment you left me behind.” 

Abby has backed you into a corner, stalking you like you’re her prey but this isn’t how she wants everything to be. Looking into your dreary eyes, she’s transported back to when you shattered her heart, splitting into pieces that no longer fit. The harder she tries to piece them back, the more jagged she becomes. 

“I don’t want this. I’ve let go of it.” 

I let go of you, sounds entirely too painful to say. 

“That’s your plan? To pretend none of this has happened?” Abby’s tongue prods the inside of her cheek, a cocky smirk flashes your way. “Look at how well it turned out the first time.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your arms cross over your chest, attempting to create some distance between the two of you, but Abby only closes you in. 

“Why do you still wear it?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Abby reaches for your hand, you untangle your limbs, the pad of her thumb loving running over the silky skin. Her calloused hand feels rough, just as it always has, but it also feels right. 

The silver ring on your pinky, the one you lost and the one your father had conveniently found. But it was never him who located your perfect gem, nope. Not at all. Just Abby’s biggest fan, besides Hazel. 

The reminder of her leaves a sour taste saturating your tongue, but you have no right. It's her friend, and just because you’re not fond of her, doesn’t mean a thing. You’re just a ghost still lingering in her life. Even if she answers there’s nothing, Hazel looks at her like you used to. When the same protectiveness switched into high gear last night, she only thought of how much you would do the exact same thing Hazel did if the roles were reversed. 

Just maybe, not as cruel. 

Abby takes the ring off your thumb, it shines in the dim lighting in the room.

“The day I fell in love with you, three months into our relationship, I gave it to you. Do you remember what I said?” 

Simply, you nod. 

“Wear this for as long as you love me and when you’ve taken it off, I’ll know we’re truly done.” Abby hums, your eyes shut as her thigh wedges between your legs but it only rests there. “But I hope you wear it forever.” 

“Then let go of me, give it back, throw it away, but stop acting like you might still feel the same. I’m tired of being played. You know how much this ring means to me. Don’t leave me, again.” 

It’s a cop out for what she really wants to say, the both of you know it is, but you have the decency to let it swarm past without making a single comment. 

She’s begging for mercy. She’s tired. The lines on her skin are an indication of the hours she spends in the sun and the time passing by, engaging you in a never-ending tsunami of Abigail Anderson’s love. 

“Abigail—” You say her name like it’s a curse, a spell you keep casting to make her fall deeper in your endless abyss. “Just because it seems like a good idea doesn’t mean it’ll work out. What makes this time any different?” 

You slid away from her, needing to breathe, you can’t think when she’s too close. Serendipity finds home into honey blues, working its magic until she finds purchase in your heart once again. You’d let her get too close, more than you should let her allow. 

Abby, the heart. 

You, the head. 

The dreamer. The thinker. Forever intertwined by the deadly kiss of fate. 

“But if it did? What if we did?” 

Abby doesn’t want to beg, but she is. She learned her lesson the first time. She said nothing all those years ago, letting you take the relationship the two of you had by the reigns, your cruelty being the fatal blow to what the two of you had worked so hard to build. Naivety crushed the future right in front of her — the one she regularly dreams of. 

Each what if connected like constellations in the sky, each one just as bright as the next, Abby can’t make of which she wants. But Abby has always known it to be true, this has always been it for her but you’re so afraid. 

Still petrified to be loved. 

“I can’t let myself go through it again, if we didn’t? I can’t just—” You begin pacing, trying to get yourself into a position to clear your mind. The hope she has, it could kill you in your sleep. “I fucked up, okay? Last night shouldn’t have happened. I needed something and I used you. Is that what you want to hear? Will that satisfy you enough?” 

“I want the goddamn fucking truth, Cherry. Stop with the lies. Tell me you want this to end because you don’t love me anymore, or that you want to go on this book tour, not because you fucked up. I don’t care if you fucked me because you needed your clit sucked for the night. Tell me the truth, Cherry, please.” 

“Stop calling me that.” 

Abby chuckles maliciously, “Why? You don’t like to remember when you were in love, the only time you ever were happy, the only time you ever let anyone get close to you?” 

She attempts to get closer to you but you dodge her and walk to the other side of the room. 

“You’re quite literally running away from me. Anything but facing the truth, right?” Abby sighs into her hands. The muscles in her body are exhausted, her heart is over spent, and her mind is filled with you. Even if she doesn’t want it to be. “Do you think I want this? To feel like this? To put my heart on the line when you clearly show that you’ll discard it every damn time? Do you think this is enjoyable for me?” 

“Then stop! I’m not asking you to, just let me leave, let me go.” 

“Let the ring go.” Somehow, in your heat of emotion, you grabbed it back from her and didn't realize it had been placed back on your thumb. “You know it was my mom’s, how could you so selfishly keep this?” 

“What?” 

Fuck. Abby runs her hands through her hair,  gripping so tightly her sunkissed knuckles turn white from nearly being pulled from the root. 

“But you said this was—” 

“I lied! I was eighteen and scared shitless, okay? I didn’t want you to—” 

“You didn't want me to….?” 

Abby sighs rubbing her hand over her face, a habit she seemed to pick up in your presence. “If I tell you, you’re just going to run.” 

You grimace, tearing up as you look at the ring, it means so much to her and all this time she was perfectly fine with thinking you got rid of it. Abby never so much as asked for it back. But everything feels more final with the ring in hand, the shining promise of something more. But the naivety of youth chilled her bones, made her believe that love like this comes and goes. It goes. And goes. And goes. 

It never comes. 

“Do you want it back?” You dodge whatever omission she was about to let fall. It’s what you do best. Avoiding the future — she’s always been ominous, constantly you’re scared to believe in the faith of her undying love. The forgiveness of her heart pours like an overflowing well. Abby teeters you along the line of grace you don’t quite deserve.   

“No.”  Abby sighs before she brings herself close to you. “I want you back, Cherry. There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted as much as you. When you left, everyone told me it’s just because you're my first love. Time heals all, right? But it doesn’t. Despite your best efforts, I’ll always love you. You’re—” 

You take a step closer to her, “I’m what?”

“You’re the love of my life. If you walk at that door, it’ll take the rest of my life to fill the gap you leave. But if you don’t love me, then please, put me out of my misery and just leave.” 

Abby looks down at the wood floors, tears collecting in her eyes as she expects you to walk out the front door, leaving her in the dust. But the slam of her front door never comes, instead you sink down on your knees resting your head on her knee, waiting for her to look down at you. 

“What?” Abby grunts. 

“There was this cute, really nerdy blonde girl, she puked on prom night, crying over some straight girl and somehow I managed to fall in love with her despite all odds but you know what the real kicker is?” You intertwined her hands with her, your head tilting to the side as your dreamily looked into sunny-blues, sticking to you like honey,

“I never, ever stopped.”

[v4mpvelocity]

KANG DAE-HO X READER NSFW HEADCANNONS

pairing: Kang Dae-Ho x female reader

SMUT MDNI

A/N : literally my man sigh, all of these headcannons start sfw with how you met kinda but the rest IS nsfw

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who put his life on the line to ensure your safety during red light green light. Pushing you behind him and shielding you with his body when Gi-Hun said for those who were smaller to get behind someone bigger.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who you have been close to ever since, relying on eachother for survival in the games, a bond forming between you both. Although, as the games progressed that bond went beyond mutual effort to keep eachother alive. Eye contact that would last longer than for those who were just friends, lingering touches, unspoken words.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who would do anything to protect you and ensure your well-being. Always keeping you at arms length whether it be making you sit next to him or keeping an arm around your shoulders. Hugs after games, sharing beds, sharing food, there was much more than just friendship going on between the both of you, and you both knew it.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who's willing to fight somebody if they disrespect you, whether your around or not. His protective instincts working overdrive as he feels a primal need to declare you as his, making sure everybody knows it.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who thrusts into you softly from behind when everyone is asleep, his strong arms keeping you close to his chest as he presses kisses to the side of your face. His thick cock filling you deliciously with each thrust, the tip kissing your cervix.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who puts your needs before his, ensuring that youve finished at least twice before even putting his cock in to make sure that your prepped enough. Holding you to his chest as you whine whilst he slides his dick into your tight hole, stretching you to the point where you feel as if your being split in half.

'Mm shh...shh honey.... almost all the way in... that's it, good girl...taking it so well'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who talks you through it, murmuring softly in your ear as you whimper and whine, trying to stay quiet as his cock abuses your oversensitive pussy. Softly caressing your tits with one hand as the other rubs circles on your clit, only intention to bring you the most pleasure he can.

'That feel good, hm? yeah? such a good girl?' or 'You want it harder honey? hmm..shh..shhh ive got you sweetie'

Kang Dae-ho, the man who has your legs spread at an almost embarrassing angle in the squid game bathrooms, but somehow manages to make you feel as if you were the most gorgeous being known to man. Pouring his love and affection for you into every thrust, eyes locked with yours as if he were proving his love for you through actions and unspoken words. Making the most vulgar words seem as if they were written by the gods themselves, as if it were angels singing praises from up above.

'Thats it honey, keep bouncing on that cock...fuckk..such a good girl' or 'So fuckin' beautiful.....my beautiful girl'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who whines when he cums, and hes not ashamed of it either. His thrusts speeding up as his cock drives into you with an unfathomable speed, abusing your gummy walls. Hands gripping your hips as he pounded into your pussy, balls smacking against your ass causing the sound of skin on skin to echo throughout the room. He 100% has a breeding kink and will want to cum in you with any chance he gets, but if thats not your thing thats ok with him too!

'Fuckk..fuckkk...gonna cum honey....where you want it baby? you want me to fill you up hm? yeah? good girl.' or

'Fuckk....please can i cum in you baby......lemme fuck a baby into you.'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who is the biggest softie and amazing at aftercare, ensuring you feel worshipped and loved before running you a hot bubble bath and lighting some candles. Providing you with anything you may need food, water you name it he'll get it for you. Then after he'll hold you close, ensuring your asleep before he can finally drift off.

[crownofgildedlilies]

like a book

pairing: k. bakugou x reader wc: 1.7k slight spoilers? but also not really? takes place right after the hero licensing exam so do what you will with that information.

You're not exactly sure why people think Katsuki Bakugou is difficult to understand.

Yeah, you know he's difficult. He's stubborn and abrasive and constantly marching to the beat of his own drum, but he's predictable. He's not difficult to understand.

Katsuki Bakugou might be difficult, but you know exactly how to read him. You wouldn't be dating if you couldn't.

You know he works his damn hardest no matter what he does, whether it be hero training or cooking dinner. You know he prefers his math work over his English practice because he also does his math first. You know he considers Kirishima his best friend—he hesitates the longest when telling him hell no to hanging out past his bedtime.

And you know the fact that he failed his licensing exam and got on house arrest in the same twelve hours is eating him alive.

It's not like his punishment is truly brutal. He gets the chance to retake the licensing exam after remedial courses, so he'll be fine. You're pretty sure that he's more upset over the fact that he has to clean the dorms with Izuku Midoriya and miss out on three days of classes, if you're honest.

And because he's so easy to understand, you know exactly what your boyfriend is up to.

There's only so many square feet in the common room that he can oh so casually clean while you're working on coursework at the dining table, pencil end caught between your teeth in concentration. It's by his third pass of your workspace that you relent and lift your gaze to his impatient—and rather antsy—ruby eyes.

“Y’doing homework?” He asks, like you didn't have your notes and textbook spread out before you and he hadn't noticed the fact the second he walked into the room. It's hard to keep your grin at bay, but you mask your amusement with the suspicious look you pin him with.

Your pencil is freed from the cage of your teeth, only to be tapped rhythmically against the plush of your lips. You watch as Katsuki's stare attaches to the movement, but before the blush can settle fully into your cheeks, he betrays his true intentions with his next glance.

Katsuki Bakugou looks so innocently at your homework.

“Why are you being nice?” You sigh, your eyes still narrowed at him. Your question offends him, clearly, as he puffs out his chest and drops into the chair beside you. He's abandoning Izuku to clean the rest of the common room by himself, but you know he doesn't care.

“The hell you talking about?” He's huffing, and you don't have to force the roll of your eyes at his clueless act. Clearly, if he's pretending like he doesn't know what you're talking about, he's more desperate than you thought. "'M always nice."

“Last week you yelled at me because I was doing my work in the common area.” Granted, you know he only got worked up because he messed up during training and wanted to mope in his room with you, pretending like everyone still believed his big tough brute act.

“Shut up." His words don't have any bite to begin with, and any affect they could have possibly had is mitigated by the red flush burning the tips of his ears. "No I didn’t.”

“You did." You have to laugh. He's not even putting effort into his denial. He knows you just as well as you know him, so lying about it was futile. "And now you’re all…”

You wave a hand in a broad circle between the two of you, your palm splayed out to face him while gesturing to how he's sitting with his body leaned towards you and face twisted into a pout.

“All what?” He grits out, and you have to bite your lip to hide your grin as you realize that if anyone but you tried to push his buttons, he would have long since snapped. But you know how to read Katsuki, and you know his patience multiplies tenfold when it comes to you.

It's a fact you only abuse a little bit.

“You know what you are." You snicker, spotting the way his fingers—stretched subtly on the table—brush against the edges of the assignment you had been working on. You really you can't beat around the bush any longer. "You’re trying to look at the homework, aren’t you?”

“‘M not, dumbass." He deflects, lying through his teeth. His hand shoots away from your papers, and you're pretty sure he's trying to distract you when he sets that same hand on top of your knee. It half works. "Why would I want that?”

“Because you’re stuck on house arrest and worried about falling behind.”

“I’m not behind!” The hand he set on your knee pinches you, and you swat at him in reprimand while simultaneously throwing your own hands up in defense of your innocence.

“I’m not saying you are." You assure him, voice gentle. You're not distracted enough by Katsuki to not notice how his outburst garnered the attention of your classmates, but beyond a cursory glance, they don't pay you any mind. They may not be able to read Katsuki as well as you can, but even they know he'd never do anything to hurt you. "And I’m not letting you look at my homework. Mr. Aizawa would kill me.”

“Stop being dramatic.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He tries to pin you with a glare, but you meet his challenge head on and not once have you ever backed down. He's told you it's one of the reasons he fell for you, and you know he's telling the truth.

“Then after I was dead, he’d expel me.”

“What the hell.” He slumps back in his chair, frowning. You're surprised it took him so long to realize you wouldn't budge on sharing your homework assignments with him after being explicitly told not to by Mr. Aizawa, but it just tells you how determined he was.

“Sorry, Katsu." You sigh, picking up your pencil and twirling it around your fingers. You're not mean enough to start working on the assignment in front of him, but you're near enough to the end that you're eager to get back to focus. "But also not, because you’re the moron that snuck out to fight.”

“You said you understood.” He's pouting, moping, and you sigh deeply. The morning after he snuck out and earned his house arrest punishment, he showed up at your dorm door and explained what he could. Apparently, he had promised Izuku he wouldn't tell anyone everything that they had talked about, and you had told him you understood.

And now, sitting beside you, he looks enough like a kicked puppy that you can't help but set your hand on his cheek to tilt his face towards you. Your gently hand is placed more towards his ear, thumb brushing over his cheekbone once, and you swear you feels him press just slightly into you palm while his eyes turn softer.

Of course, you know he'd flush bright red and stumble over an excuse if you ever dreamed of voicing what you observed.

“I understand needing to talk things out with Izuku, and I understand when you say you can’t tell me what you guys discussed." You tell him, voice even and quiet so no one but him can hear you. Slowly, you slide your hand to the back of his head and tug on his hair hard enough to break the trance he was in. His glare is worth it, especially since the sight causes the edge of your lips to tug upwards into a grin. "I don’t understand the fighting. You’ve known Izuku since kindergarten.”

You press a kiss to the cheek opposite than you were holding to soothe the burn of your words, and he groans in defeat when you drop your hand back to your lap.

“Stop calling him Izuku." He mumbles out, trying to play off the fact that his face was flushing bright red from your scant few displays of affection. "Damn nerd.”

“You’re a moron.” You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat while still have your body twisted to face him.

“The hell?” He snaps from his cheek-kiss drunk daze at your insult, though insults are practically the currency of romance in your relationship.

“You’re trying to be nice and sappy so I’ll let you look at my homework, but I know you better than that.”

“Shut up." He defends. You raise a brow in a silent challenge, smirk curving your lips. You even go so far as leaning your elbow on the table, chin tucked in your palm, so you can study him closely. He folds within seconds. "One page.”

“Not a chance.”

“C’mon—”

“Since you’re on garbage duty," You nod your head in the direction of the plastic bag he had been toting around before arriving at your table, shutting down his attempt at protesting your refusal. "Can you empty the bin in my room?”

“No, the hell?” He questions, but he's already standing from his chair. Your boyfriend is a smart man, and you know the only defeat he's willing to accept is when it comes to you.

“I will!" Izuku overhears your question while darting around the room, and eagerly offers. You know it's nothing more than from the kindness of his heart, but you also know your boyfriend will manage to see it as a form of competition. "I’m taking the rest of the trash out now.”

“Thanks, Izuku—” You grin, a giggle interrupted by Katsuki's huff, which turns it into a full laugh.

“Forget it, I’ll grab it." He's standing by your chair, glaring at Izuku, who gets the message and darts off throughout the common room to remind everyone else to bring out their garbage. And even though Izuku is long gone, you still hear your boyfriend mumbling to himself. “Got no reason to be going into your room; fucking nerd.”

You snort, tugging his arm so that he bends down far enough to let you kiss him sweetly. He obliges, but you can tell he's still eyeing your homework longingly. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes.

“Thanks Katsuki." You hum as he goes on his way, but he lingers long enough to press a second kiss to the top of your head, followed shortly by a mumbled complaint. Though, he's still doing exactly as you asked of him.

“Damn brat.”

You can read him like a book, and you have him wrapped around your finger.

[kunareads]

kiss it better

sukuna x reader

when your ex shows up unexpectedly, your boyfriend reminds you exactly who you belong to

wc: 4.5k

partly based on a true story </3

content: brief mention of emotional abuse (not from sukuna), slight anxiety, spanking, unprotected piv sex, oral (f! receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics kinda, general filth, cutesy aftercare (!!!)

18+ please i block children <3

you're out with sukuna and your mutual friends, laughter spilling out in waves as you all shuffle into the restaurant. the place hums with energy, clinking glasses and soft murmurs blending with bursts of hearty laughter. you take your seat across from him, his gaze settling on you with an intensity that's both comforting and unreadable, a subtle reassurance of his presence.

everything feels easy at first. the conversation flows, the food comes out steaming and fragrant, and you're immersed in the warmth of the group. gojo is mid-story, grinning mischievously as he leans forward. "last week, utahime tried to parallel park for like… twenty minutes. twenty. minutes."

"shut up, gojo," utahime snaps, her glare piercing. "the space was tiny!"

"the space could have fit a truck," gojo says, holding back laughter. "there was a crowd cheering her on by the time she finished."

"at least i didn't hit anything," utahime fires back. "unlike you last month."

"let's not get sidetracked. this is about you," he retorts with a wink.

"you're insufferable," she mutters, crossing her arms.

"you're both ridiculous," you say, grinning and shaking your head as you take a sip of sukuna's drink. the banter swirls around you, warm and familiar.

and then you catch sight of someone two tables down. your breath catches before you can stop it, heart stumbling over itself as your ex-boyfriend's gaze locks onto yours for the briefest second. you look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation surrounding you. you don't say anything.

you lean over to sukuna, your voice low to keep from interrupting the group's laughter. "have to pee. i'll be back in a minute," you say. his eyes flick to yours, searching, and his hand lightly squeezes your arm.

when you enter the bathroom, the mirror glares back at you as you lean forward, palms braced against the sink, eyes burning. flashes of the past hit you—the way he would twist your words, make you question your own reality. the nights he'd pick fights out of nowhere, his voice cutting sharper than any blade. how you'd leave arguments feeling like you'd done something wrong, even when you hadn't.

your breath stutters as you force the memories back, swiping liner and gloss across your lips to steady your shaking hands. a quick touch-up, a calming breath, and you're heading back out.

sukuna notices immediately. of course he does. his eyes linger a second too long as you settle back into your seat, the faint crease of his brow betraying his concern.

recognition sweeps his expression when he looks toward the table where your ex sits. he knows exactly who the man is and what he's done to you, knows the full weight of the memories you carry, cradled you through them long before this relationship even started. his jaw tightens, and his fingers drum once on the table.

choso, observant as ever, notices and leans in slightly, his voice low and steady as he murmurs, "focus on her, not him." sukuna's shoulders relax just a fraction. he smooths his features back to their usual calm. he doesn't say anything as he grabs your hand over the table, just looks at you reassuringly. he’ll let you talk about it if you want to, the way he always has.

+++

it’s easy to lose yourself in the night as it goes on. the group hops from one bar to another, each stop adding to the warmth in your chest. sukuna is at your side, doting on you in ways that feel instinctive. he’s making sure you have snacks, that your drink is always topped off, even pulling you onto the dance floor for the songs he knows you love.

"come dance with me," he requests, extending his hand toward you as a new song starts. his smirk softens as he leans closer, his voice quieter now. "come dance with me," he murmurs, his tone steady, almost reassuring. "i've got you."

his demeanor leaves little room for argument, and you let him guide you to the floor, his touch warm and steady. it's impossible not to laugh as he spins you around, his moves teasing but surprisingly smooth, pulling you further into the moment.

"did you see her moves?" gojo teases as you both make your way back to the group after a few songs, breathless and laughing. "i think you might have a future in interpretive dance."

"shut up," you giggle, swatting at him.

sukuna smirks, handing you a glass of water. "ignore him. he's jealous he can't keep up."

"jealous? of that?" gojo shoots back with mock indignation, throwing a hand over his chest. "please, i'm a national treasure."

"you're a national headache," utahime mutters, sipping her drink. "but at least you're consistent." the group erupts into laughter, the warmth of their camaraderie making you forget everything else. the food, the drinks, the jokes that make your cheeks ache from smiling so much. you're happy, you realize.

at the third stop of the night, your phone buzzes. you glance down and see a text. from an unsaved number that you recognize too quickly.

so u not gonna say hi?

you're drunk now, and the edges of your vision blur just slightly as you try to focus on the words. your stomach twists, the alcohol amplifying the unease that settles heavily in your chest.

but you school your features, slipping the phone back into your pocket with a shaky hand. it's a problem for tomorrow. you're not going to let it ruin this night.

+++

the following day, everything's back to normal. sunlight spills through the windows as you lounge on the couch, nursing a slight hangover in sukuna’s shirt and panties, watching some shitty reality tv that's more noise than entertainment.

the text from last night barely crosses your mind. it feels like a distant, unimportant thing. sukuna's in the next room finishing up some work. your phone is in there with him, left charging on his desk. you haven't even thought to check it.

his voice calls you in, low and casual. "c'mere," he says, leaning back in his chair with an air of effortless confidence. you step into the room and he's waiting, one arm over the armrest, the other reaching out to pull you closer.

"took you long enough," he begins, looking up at you with a faint smirk. "thought you forgot about me."

"it's only been a minute, ‘kuna" you counter softly, letting him draw you in. his grip is firm but not demanding, his touch grounding as ever.

"i love you, you know that?" he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing along your jaw, smiling when he feels your nod.

"you're mine," he says, the words low and sure, not a demand but a statement, a claim. his lips press against your jaw, praise slipping out between kisses. "you're fucking perfect, and you're all mine."

a tension you hadn't recognized before snaps, his movements losing their gentleness as he claims your attention completely, the air electric with the shift.

his hands guide your movements until you're bent over the edge of the bed, your breath hitching in anticipation. he runs fingers up your spine, his touch making you shiver.

a hand comes down hard against your ass, the slap echoing in the silence, pain blooming under his palm. it catches you off guard, a yelp escaping as your body jerks, reflexes scrambling to process the sudden sensation. the sting fades quickly, leaving a deep warmth in its wake.

you can hear him chuckle behind you. his fingers trail lightly across the redness on your ass. "so responsive."

a hand rests at the small of your back, warm and steady, before another sharp, unexpected sting blossoms against your skin. this spank is harder than anything he's ever given you before.

"what—" you start, but your words falter as heat spreads through you.

he leans down, his voice low and smooth in your ear. "the text," he states, his tone calm but laced with unmistakable authority. he pulls your phone into your line of sight, the screen lighting up with the message you didn't open. "you weren't going to tell me?"

"it wasn't important," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

"hmm," he muses, his palm sliding over the curve of your ass, soothing the spot he spanked. the motion makes you tense, a hint of nervousness settling in the pit of your stomach now.

"he's nothing," he says harshly. "you don't hide things from me. especially not about him. you know that." his words make your breath catch, the atmosphere shifting to something unfamiliar. the air between you crackles, his possessiveness undeniable and exhilarating.

he connects a hand to your ass again, a sharp slap that sends another spark of pain through you. he keeps a steady rhythm, strikes coming hard and fast. the ache builds, his palm leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

you can't help the noises that escape your throat or the tears that prickle at the corners of your eyes.

a sob slips out, and his hand pauses. his other hand slides up your side, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

"you're okay, pretty baby," he soothes, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness just moments ago. his lips press against the small of your back.

"'m sorry, 'kuna," you sniffle.

he hums, his hand rubbing over the redness on your ass, the sensation making you whimper. "i know."

your body moves instinctively as he soothes your ass and admires his work, pressing back against his crotch as a new sensation washes over you, an intensity that feels raw and real.

"fuck," he groans. the sound makes heat pool low in your core, the ache building as the pain bleeds into something more, a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort that leaves you desperate. "you take it so well," he praises. "everything i give you."

his hand slips between your legs, brushing over your clothed clit. a spark shoots through you as you inhale sharply, pleasure coiling at the contrast between the sting of his hand and the tenderness of his fingers.

you can hear the smirk. "and you're soaked," he says, his voice laced with approval. "did that turn you on?"

"y-yes," you manage, barely above a whisper.

he chuckles darkly, his breath hot on the back of your neck as he pushes your shirt over his head and starts pressing kisses down your spine.

you whimper, your mind struggling to process as the sting lingers and desire ripples through you, the contrast delicious.

he kneels behind you, pressing kisses to the welts now forming on your ass. his tongue is soft against the sore, sensitive skin as he strokes over your panties, gentle at first, then more insistent. you exhale, leaning into his touch. the contact is maddeningly light, and it's not enough.

"more, 'kuna," you gasp.

"you'll take what i give you," he replies, his tone unyielding.

the words send a shudder through you. the ache in your core is so intense that it's almost painful, your body throbbing with need.

his fingers trace the lace edges of your panties, slipping under the fabric to feel your soaked pussy. the touch makes you moan, your hips arching as you press back onto his hand.

"is this what you need?" his voice is low, his touch gentle as he slowly slips two fingers into you.

"yes," you gasp, grinding against his hand. his thumb presses down on your clit, and it's too much. "please," you pant. "i need it. please, 'kuna"

his hand lands on your ass again, the crisp slap followed by the sound of your yelp. "you're going to cum on my mouth," he instructs. "and if you're good, i'll let you cum on my dick."

your heart thuds at his words. he pulls your panties down, exposing your dripping cunt.

he turns so his back is to the bed with you still bent over the edge. his face dips between your legs and he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs, pulling you onto his face. he wastes no time licking a broad stripe over your cunt. his grip on you tightens as he groans, the vibration sending a jolt through you.

"'kuna," you whimper, pressing down against him, needing more. he laps at your cunt hungrily, his tongue dragging over your clit, and you can't help the loud moan that escapes your throat.

he spreads you open for himself, fingers grazing the swelling pink welts as he slurps at your dripping pussy. he's sucking your clit and fucking into you with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. the sound is filthy, and it only adds to the ache building inside of you.

"fuck, 'kuna," you gasp. "please don't stop."

he hums and presses a finger into you, and you gasp, clenching around him. his lips close over your clit, sucking as he slides another finger in, pumping them slowly.

"oh fuck," you moan, gripping the bedsheets. his slow pace is unbearable, and your hips buck, searching for more.

his grip on you tightens as he pushes deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur.

"fuck," he groans, pulling away. "always taste so fucking good."

your eyes squeeze shut. "please," you moan.

"please what?" he asks, and you can hear the mocking grin on his face.

"please let me cum," you gasp.

he pauses his movements and you whimper.

"do you deserve to cum?" his voice is low, almost a purr.

you whine, your head spinning. you don't know how to answer, and his hand comes down, the sound ringing out and stinging your already sore skin.

"i asked you a question."

"i don't kn—"

"yes, you do," he cuts in, his tone firm. "always such a perfect girl for me. you deserve to cum."

he picks up his pace and the pressure builds, the ache coiling deep inside of you as you grind down against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

his fingers curl, hitting that spot over and over until your vision blurs and the room spins. the heat is intense, and the pleasure coils so tight you feel like you're about to explode.

"fuck," he breathes, his lips brushing over the spot where your thigh meets your pussy. "such a pretty little thing when you're desperate. want you to cum all over my face."

he sucks at your clit again, maintaining the steady pace of his fingers, and you're right at the edge. you feel his lips turn up into a smile against you, and he curls his fingers, hitting that spot again.

"cum for me, pretty baby."

"i'm gonna — 'kuna, i'm—"

his hand comes down again, landing with a slap. the feeling tips you over the edge and your words falter as the orgasm hits, bliss crashing over you, your thighs clamping down around his head. it's intense, your muscles spasming as time slows. his biceps flex as he holds you in place, and he keeps working his fingers, his pace never slowing despite the way you clench hard around him.

he doesn't let up, his tongue lapping at your oversensitive cunt, his fingers continuing their assault.

"wait, wait," you gasp. "'kuna, please, please, i can't—"

"you can," he says, his voice a low growl.

the tension in your core is so tight that it's almost painful, each brush against your clit making you shudder.

"that's it, sweetheart," he breathes. "fuck, i can feel you getting close again." his words send a rush of heat through you, and he doesn't let up, his touch driving you mad.

"c'mon, sweet girl," he coaxes. "be good for me."

your toes curl, and a moan rips from your throat, the tension snapping as another orgasm hits. the sensation is intense, fire licking at every part of your body.

his tongue slows, dragging over your folds lazily. he presses a few soft kisses there before he pulls back. he grins with slick lips, lifting you onto the bed from underneath.

you're trembling, barely able to move as he turns you on your back, sliding a pillow under your head. the room is spinning slightly and your limbs are heavy, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you.

he lays next to you, studying you as you catch your breath, face caught somewhere between lust and obvious concern.

"okay?" he asks softly.

you nod. "just... need a minute.

he gives you space, stroking your hair, feeding you water from the bottle by the bed and cooing when it dribbles down your chin.

once your breathing returns to normal, you look at him to find that his expression has changed again, something predatory creeping into the lines on his face.

"who do you belong to?" his voice is steady, his tone unwavering.

"you," you breathe.

"say it."

"i'm yours," you say, meeting his gaze.

"again."

"i'm yours, 'kuna."

"mine," he repeats, his fingers sliding into your hair and gripping tight. "all mine."

your breath catches as his lips crash into yours. the kiss is hot, urgent. you whimper against him, the sound muffled, and he breaks away, leaving a trail of bites along your jaw. his hands are firm on your body, and his touch burns, the ache building again.

"tell me how bad you want it," he says.

"need you," you gasp as he moves down to suck on a nipple, and he chuckles.

"not good enough."

he presses a hand against the base of your neck, fingers splayed. his grip isn't tight, but the threat of his strength is undeniable.

"what do you need, sweetheart?"

"need you to fuck me," you reply, face burning hot with shame. "please."

he smirks, pupils blown wide with lust.

"so polite," he says, his voice thick with arousal. "my sweet girl."

he stands and sheds his clothes, the fabric landing in a pile on the floor before he gets back on the bed to kneel before you.

he's rock hard and your mouth waters as he wraps a hand around his dick. his grip is firm and his strokes are quick and smooth, his tip leaking.

"i'll give you what you need," he says, his eyes locked on yours.

"thank you, 'kuna," you whisper.

"you're welcome, pretty baby," he murmurs.

he studies you, shifting forward to run his tip over your swollen clit. the touch is gentle, making your back arch, a whine escaping your throat.

"shh," he coos, his hand coming up to stroke the side of your face.

"'m sorry," you whimper.

he shakes his head, his expression softening. "no need," he comforts, shifting closer, lining himself up with your entrance. "let me make you feel good."

you can't respond, the words lost as he pushes into you. the stretch is eased by your previous orgasms, but the weight of him makes you moan, the sound low and guttural.

he pauses, letting you adjust, his breath catching as your cunt flutters around him. "fuck, there we go," he says, his voice thick. "take me so well."

he shifts, wrapping his arms around your torso, his thrusts slow and deep. his movements are deliberate, and each push feels like heaven. his touch is tender, his kisses soft, his body warm and comforting against yours.

he pushes the hair away from your face, soothing you as you start to lose yourself in his arms.

"my sweet girl," he coos, pressing kisses to your face. "so good for me."

he rolls his hips, each stroke slow and deliberate. the drag of his dick against your walls is exquisite, and the friction sends a shock of pleasure through you, your back arching, eyes rolling back.

"'m yours," you whimper.

he kisses along your jaw, his touch firm but gentle, his praise steady.

"so beautiful," he rasps.

"'m yours," you repeat.

"yeah, sweetheart," he breathes. "all mine."

"yours," you whisper.

"and i'm yours," he says. "only yours."

you're shaking, the words making your heart pound.

"i love you, 'kuna," you whisper, meeting his gaze with teary eyes.

"i love you too, sweet girl" he replies, his voice hoarse.

"so good to me," you mumble, burying your face in his neck.

"always," he replies.

he keeps his pace steady, his thrusts shallow and slow, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple. you feel safe like this, wrapped up in his arms, his steady thrusts making you tremble.

"'m close," you whimper.

"i got you," he breathes. "let go, sweetheart. let go for me."

your eyes slide closed, his words pushing you over the edge, the pleasure white-hot and intense, his touch anchoring you. the orgasm is drawn out by his slow movements, and he doesn't stop, fucking you straight through it.

"fuck," he groans. "so fucking good."

he leans back suddenly and puts your ankles on his shoulders. the angle allows him to push even deeper, and the shift makes you moan loudly, his thrusts harder and faster now. his movements are measured, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity between you palpable.

"tell me who you fucking belong to," he demands, his voice rough.

"you, 'kuna," you gasp.

"who the fuck's making you feel good?"

"you," you pant, the sound broken and raw.

"fuck," he groans, his pace picking up, his thrusts faster now, his movements more erratic. "so fucking perfect."

the words make you whimper, and you squeeze around him, the pressure making him moan.

you feel your mind go blank. the only thing you know is his touch, his command, the feeling of him filling you.

"'kuna," you gasp.

"i know, pretty baby," he breathes.

his hips slam into yours, his grip around your thighs unforgiving, his pace brutal now, the room filled with the slap of skin on skin.

he watches the hearts form in your eyes, that distant stare, the look of blissed-out submission. his gaze is intense, lips turning up in a feral grin.

"there's my good girl," he growls, his voice dripping with pride. "fuck, look at you, taking my cock so fucking well. my perfect little slut."

you clench around him with a dazed smile, his words sending a jolt through you. the coil in your core is tightening, the ache so strong that it almost hurts.

"'kuna," you whimper.

"that's it," he growls. "such a good girl."

he pounds into you, his movements relentless, his grip tight.

you’re not thinking, only able to focus on the sensation of his dick inside you.

"'s too much," you gasp.

"no, sweet girl," he replies. "you can take it. be good for me."

your hands reach for his face. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hips moving in sharp, deep thrusts. the change in position has your thighs up against your torso now, the force of his thrusts almost bruising.

"p-please," you stutter.

"just a little more," he breathes, his thrusts slowing slightly.

"fuck," you gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

"come on, sweet girl," he coaxes, his pace picking up again.

you squeeze around him again and he moans, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. he shifts, adjusting so his lips are pressed against your ear.

"love watching you take me," he pants. "my perfect girl."

his words send a shudder through you, and the coil in your core threatens to snap.

"'m gonna — 'kuna," you stutter, and another orgasm crashes over you, your vision blurring.

"yes," he hisses, his movements losing their rhythm. "fuck, fuck."

his grip on you tightens as his own climax hits. his eyes roll back, and he thrusts into you twice more. he groans into your neck, his movements slow now, the room filled with the sound of his moans, your soft whimpers. his chest is heaving, and his arms are shaking slightly.

"i love you, sweet girl," he tells you, kissing your face.

"i love you, too," you whisper, voice cracking.

"you're everything, my love."

"always gonna be yours, 'kuna," you sniffle, and he presses another kiss to your forehead.

he holds you for a moment, silence enveloping the room as his heart rate slows, the sound of his breath quieting. he pulls out slowly, and a rush of warmth pools between your legs. his cum drips from you, the sensation making you blush.

"don't move," he murmurs, sliding off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

the sound of running water drifts from the open door, and a moment later, he returns carrying a damp washcloth. he gently wipes the sticky mess between your legs, the cloth soft against you.

"thank you, 'kuna," you murmur, and he kisses your forehead before tossing the cloth onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

the intensity is gone now. the room is quieter, but your senses remain heightened, details amplified in the aftermath. sukuna shifts into a softer rhythm, the sharp edges of his earlier demeanor melting away entirely.

he moves with care, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair from your face with tender precision. his touch is grounding, his presence an anchor as he steadies you.

"didn't hurt you too much, did i?" he asks, his voice low and filled with a quiet vulnerability. his thumb grazes your cheek, the touch warm and reassuring as his eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort.

"no," you manage, your voice soft and your lips turning into a small smile. "i'm okay."

his shoulders relax visibly, and a faint smile tugs at his lips as he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "good," he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin. "you're everything to me, you know that?"

he shifts carefully, reaching for the blanket draped at the edge of the bed and wrapping it around you. he pulls you against his chest, his arms encircling you in a protective hold, his steady breathing matching the rhythm of your own as it slows.

"you did so good," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm in the stillness of the room. "always so good for me." his lips press against your temple, his praise flowing steadily, each word deliberate and grounding. his hand moves gently along your back, his touch careful, as though reminding you of his devotion.

you feel tears burning in your eyes, not from negativity but because of how loved you feel, have always felt, by him. a few trickle down your cheeks, and his grip tightens slightly.

his heart pounds and you can feel the way his chest rises and falls as his breathing hitches, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. he knows exactly how much you need him.

"'m right here, sweetheart. you're safe," he says softly, his tone carrying the certainty you need. he rocks you back and forth slightly. "i've got you. always."

your senses gradually settle as the weight of the moment shifts into something calmer, safer. one of his hands strokes softly along your back while the other remains firm around your waist, his voice threading into the quiet with reassurances.

as the quiet deepens, the room feels softer, almost sacred, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. your eyes close slowly, the weight of his words and the steady rhythm of his heart drawing you into a space of perfect calm. his hold is unwavering, a reminder that here, in his arms, you are completely safe.

[bitchface24-7]

Also I feel like you’ve had that Silco fic ready for a while- I sent that ask, took a nap and woke up to a fic. BUT ITS SKYVIK X READER TIME! Sky and reader are besties (and they were roommates..) and one day they go to each other and are both super blushy and excited. Both talking about cute interactions they’ve had with their mystery crush. Finding it too much of a coincidence they expose the fact that they had been crushing on the same man for weeks. Both of them have been receiving hints of affection and romantic interest from Viktor. Both confused and kind pissed off thinking they're getting led on. Only to confront Viktor and find out that he is aware of what he’s been doing and he stands by it. (He’s got two hands LMAO) Could it be spicy? Jaybe. Jaybe not. Up to you girly- ALSO DON'T WORRY! TAKE YOUR TIME!!!! I’ll be sitting here looking pretty. :333

I’VE GOT TWO HANDS FOR A REASON - SKYVIK X READER

synopsis: you and your best friend Sky have always had each other's backs, especially in the department of love. You two are as close as can be (maybe even too close some might say), and you both have a crush on someone; finally! Except… he's starting to sound familiar. Very familiar…

warnings: sky and R come to the conclusion they both have a crush on Viktor and Viktor’s been flirting with both of them, irritation, slight miscommunication (S and R think V is playing them, he's not), feelings realization for S and R, getting together, smut, oral sex (m receiving), Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f/f or m/m/f

p.s. Yay, a Skyvik request!! My poor baby is slept on and deserves love. So, she'll be getting double the amount here (and in another request 😏😏) hope y'all enjoy!

p.p.s regarding the Silco fic, I came up with it on the spot after reading your request and speed-wrote it LMAO; that's how the requests go typically. Or I write the top portion before the first divider, save it, and come back to it when inspiration strikes me when I re-read it, and write the whole fic and post it 😭😭

You and Sky, your roommate and best friend are sitting in the living room, gushing over your crushes. But as the conversation goes on, the both of you start to have a startling realization.

You both have a crush on the same man, and he's flirting with the both of you.

"He's so handsome, the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Like molten gold."

"His accent is addictive. He could read a dictionary and it'd sound hot."

"He's sweet--"

"He's sarcastic--"

"He's--"

The two of you glance at each other. Sky is nervously fixing her glasses and you furrow your eyebrows. "Sky... I think we're talking about the same man."

Sky sighs as she slouches against the back of the couch, "I do too." You shake your head in frustration, "Say his name at the same time?"

Sky nods and the two of you simultaneously count down from 3... 2... 1...

"Viktor."

The both of you look to each other in shock, then despair, then irritation. Who does Viktor think he is?! He's been toying with both of you, playing you two like toys! You feel like a fool, a loser. You keep ranting as you pace back and forth, Sky just sits on the couch; dejected.

"He's not getting away with this! Sky, c'mon, we're going to the lab." You firmly sate, grabbing her wrist gently and ushering yourselves out of your home. She's flustered but follows you, just as irritated as you are.

Viktor's just caused a hurricane, and it's rapidly coming towards him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor is casually working in the lab in silence. Jayce has a council meeting, and you and Sky have gone home hours ago. It's late at night; and Viktor is enjoying the peace.

He thinks of you two, how attractive the both of you are. How receptive you two are to his words, his touches, his glances. Sky gets shy, flustered. But preens under his attention and praise.

You on the other hand bite back, make flirty remarks, and perfectly timed innuendos. He adores the two of you. He doesn't expect the both of you to barge into the lab and break his peace.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear.

Viktor jolts at the shout of his name, he turns in his chair removing his eye-protection and stares dumbly at the two of you. You look angry, Sky looks upset, and Viktor knows he's messed up.

"You're awful, you know that?! Flirting with both Sky and I, toying around with our feelings! Do you even like us?!" Your voice is firm, sharp as steel. Sky just looks dejected, her eyes red with unshed tears.

Viktor's fucked up. Badly. He needs to fix this, STAT.

"I do. I adore both of you, so I showed my interest. I was going to tell both of you later this week but... it looks like you both came to a conclusion. A wrong one, but a conclusion none the less."

Your anger seeps away and confusion is left in its place. Sky looks curious, her dejected face long gone.

Sky's voice is quiet, but curious, "You like... both of us? Isn't that odd?"

A light laugh escapes you as you glance at your best friend, "This is a good thing Sky! We both have a shot! And--" Viktor cuts you off, his voice low and rumbly, "I have two hands."

Both you and Sky startle, the both of you flustering at Viktor's words and tone. He's... a very handsome man, and his tone of voice and look he's shooting you two is amplifying it.

He continues on, unfazed, "Besides, I thought we were all on the same page. I thought you two were together; and you we're trying to add me into your relationship."

Sky sputters a bit and your face morphs into a contemplative look, "I can see why he thought that." Sky whips around to look at you, her doe eyes wide in shock, "You can?!"

You nod, "I can. Sky be honest, we don't act like friends. Not really. We live together, cook together, typically share the same bed at night, are constantly with each other and touching each other. We have even showered together. Or have been in the bathroom getting ready, or just sitting on the toilet talking while the other bathes. That's not friend-like behavior Sky. We're essentially unofficially dating."

Sky looks dumbfounded as you and Viktor chuckle. That's... no. Well? Is it? Sky re-evaluates your relationship and realizes-- yeah. You two are dating.

Sky groans in embarrassment as you kiss her red cheek. Viktor laughs as Sky shoots him an unimpressed look. "The two of you are so bad at emotions." Sky and Viktor look at you, "Am not!" The two look to each other, they didn't mean to say that at the same time."

You laugh, "So... now that we're both on the same page; what do we do now?" Your two scientists look to one another and grin, "I have a good idea." Viktor states as he looks darkly at the two of you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The three of you make your way to the lab couch, Viktor sits down as he watches you and Sky kiss. The two of you are so beautiful, he can't imagine he made it this far.

This is one of his main fantasies.

The two of you pull apart and rush Viktor, the poor man startled at the the enthusiasm. You both take one side of the pretty man, kissing all over his face and pulling his face each way to properly kiss his lips. The man sits there panting in shock.

You unbutton his shirt and both you and Sky continue your assault of kisses and nips on Viktor's body, eventually making your way to his belt.

The two of you now on your knees in front of him, looking up with big pleading eyes makes him groan, his head going back in lust. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

"Yes. Please. Fuck, take it off."

You and Sky beam a grin up at him as you both go for his belt buckle, undoing it, and pulling his pants down. His cock bounces lightly as his boxers got caught on his cock due to your eagerness.

It's pretty in all honesty. Neatly groomed, about six or seven inches in length, a good girth, a pretty pink head. Fuck it's perfect, it's actually quite big in your opinion.

Sky bites her lip and you wrap a hand around the base, "Where've you been hiding this beast, huh?"

A moan in what you get in return, "My pants." You roll your eyes and lick the tip, Viktor's hips jolt. You rub your hand up and down the base as you angle his cock to Sky, "You wanna?"

"Fuck yeah." Both you and Viktor jolt at the swear coming off of Sky's lips. You've never heard her swear before. Sky sucks the tip into her mouth and you remove your hand from the base, putting your lips there instead as you kiss the side of his cock.

Viktor just sits there, his eyes wide as he blinks in shock and whines. Fuck, he's so overwhelmed he doesn't know what to focus on; his mind is silent for once.

The two of you switch positions every so often, you even suck his balls into your mouth at one point. Viktor just gets louder and louder in his pleasure. You two are gonna kill him one day.

A loud moan escapes his pretty lips, "I-- I-- I'm going to cum. Fuck! I'm going to cum!"

A few bursts of cum enter your mouth as you whine, Sky continues to pump his cock to prolong his orgasm. When Viktor whines in overstimulation, you and Sky stop your pleasure and pull away from the panting man. You pull Sky into a kiss and push some cum into her mouth. The two of you kiss passionately, full of filth as Viktor just looks at the two of you.

He pulls himself together, putting himself back into his pants, zipping them up, and re-buttoning his shirt, "You two are filthy. No one would ever expect that."

The two of you go back to sit on the couch, the both of you kissing his cheek. His face squishes a bit due to the force.

"We're only filthy for you Viktor. Only for you."

Viktor's called it. You two are going to kill him one day.

RAHHHHHH!!! I'm so proud of this, I hope all y'all enjoyed watching Viktor get overwhelmed with pleasure ❤️❤️

[cherrygirlfriend]

helping hand pairing: pogue!reader x bsf!sarah synopsis: sarah's new boyfriend can't get her off :( but her best friend can :) warnings: smut, drinking, bottom sarah & top reader wc: 2k MDNI! since people keep asking "how can you be a lesbian when you just write for men???" well here damn!!! jk i really just wanted to write for this princess <3 originally posted 01/06/2025

you and sarah had known each other for years, and even though you couldn't seem more different, you were inseparable. everyone thought that sarah was a 'perfect prissy princess', you knew she was just like you. the kook had always been rough around the edges, even if she hid it under expensive clothes and boys she'd date until she got bored of them. meanwhile, you wore your coarse manners right on your sleeve. everyone on figure 8 and the cut alike was confused as to how sarah could be friends with someone like you.

"it's some expensive crap i stole from rose." sarah sighed, throwing down a bottle of red wine on the bed before laying down next to you, the springs off the mattress creaking under her weight as you threw an old playboy magazine you'd stolen from your father onto the floor, grabbing the wine and reading the label.

"chateau lafit- whatthefuck...?" you read with furrowed brows. sarah took a peek at the bottle and let out a small chuckle.

"château lafite-rothschild. year 2017."

"if i can't pronounce it then it's definitely fancy, expensive shit." you chuckled softly, "but you do know that i don't own one of those fancy-ass wine bottle openers? i usually just drink those seven-dollar screw cap ones. ten-dollar if i'm feeling fancy."

"of course. that's why i brought this." the blonde held up a wine bottle opener with a smirk, proceeding to open the contraption like she'd done it a hundred times before.

the two of you proceeded to pass around the bottle of wine, drinking straight out of the bottle as the two of you were talking, and you tried your best to tune out the annoyance you felt when sarah was ranting about some guy she had been seeing, staring up at the band posters hung up on your wall. you told yourself that it wasn't jealousy, that you were just irritated she was focusing on some guy instead of talking about something actually interesting. you'd always been good at lying to yourself.

but then, she said something that piqued your interest.

"i mean, he can't even get me to come!" sarah exclaimed, taking a swig out of the bottle of wine in irritation.

"really?" you raised your brows with a small chuckle.

"half the time he doesn't even know where my clit is."

you let out a snort, grabbing the bottle of wine from her and taking a swig; you were never too into red wine, but whatever swanky shit she had taken from rose was actually good, sarah's cherry-flavored lipgloss staining the lip of the bottle, making you imagine how it'd be like to taste it from her full lips, your eyes drifting from her brown ones down to the lips you'd dreamt of multiple times, wondering how they'd feel, how much you wanted to have your lips pressed against hers, to tease her mouth open with your tongue.

"it's not funny!" sarah's lips formed those words, yet she started laughing, revealing her teeth that you'd wanted her to sink into your skin while your fingers-

you shook the thoughts out of your head and snorted once again, "you should break up with him. or get used to never getting off by another person again."

"i'd feel bad breaking up because of sexual compatibility."

"sarah, you broke up with a guy because he wore 'weird socks'. which, by the way, i do." you pointed to your feet, adorned in blue socks that were decorated with spongebobs.

"when you do it, it's cute. when a guy does it, it's... eugh."

"maybe you just think i'm cute." you grinned, taking another swig out of the bottle before passing it to the blonde who simply rolled her eyes and took a large swig before passing it back. drinking with sarah was always the worst; it always made you focus on her lips, on the way her neck bobbed when she swallowed, how the more she drank, a small drop of the alcohol would stay on her lips, the girl swiping it away with her finger and making it disappear by sucking the tip of her finger into her mouth.

"could be." sarah grinned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "i've always thought that if i was gonna be with a girl it'd be you."

you nearly choked on the expensive wine as you heard the blonde say that, coughing and sputtering as you looked at the amused smile that took over her lips at your reaction, the girl biting down on her lower lip.

"you know, i'd totally be down," you put the bottle on your nightstand, narrowing your eyes and cocking your head to the side, "but you couldn't handle me." you said in a challenging tone, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"oh, yeah?" sarah said, leaning closer to you, pressing her cleavage together with her arms, and you weren't completely sure if she was doing it intentionally or not. "why do you figure?"

you brought your finger to her chin, pulling her even closer until her lips were only a breath away from yours, slowly letting your hand travel down her neck, feeling her pounding heart under your fingertips. "because the moment i touch you..." you whisper, pressing a featherlight peck on her lips, "you're gonna unravel."

sarah's pupils were blown wide, flickering between your eyes and your lips, the girl letting out a warm breath, her hand going to rest on your jaw "i bet i won't."

you pressed your lips on hers, hungrily, like you'd die of starvation if you didn't devour her right in that spot. one of your hands went to her waist, tugging her closer to you, while the other one tangled into her blonde hair.

it felt as if time stopped as your tongues danced, the girl tasting of the red wine you'd shared and the remnants of her cherry lip gloss, your layers of clothing slowly disappearing while the two of you were tangled into one another until you were both in your underwear, your lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone as your hand was kneading her breast through her lacy bra, sarah letting out soft whimpers, once that you'd spent so long wondering what they sounded like.

your lips pressed kisses on her chest, sarah's head thrown back as you mumbled against the flesh of her breast, "can i take this off?" your fingers trailing over the lace of her bra, goosebumps appearing on her soft skin.

"mmhm. yeah." the girl hummed, and you could feel her heart racing against your hand as you unclasped her bra, sliding it down her arms painfully slowly before discarding it on the floor, looking at her bared breasts with your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from letting out a moan. slowly, you brought your lips down to her nipple, rolling your tongue around it and listening to the pretty noises sarah was letting out, pressing a gentle kiss on the hardened bud before sucking it into your mouth, twirling your tongue around it while your other hand's fingers pinched her other nipple, sarah letting out moans that had you soaking. "oh, f-fuck…"

you hummed against her nipple, sending vibrations down her body, before you let it out of your mouth with a wet pop, smirking at how unraveled sarah already looked under you, her eyes hazy as she looked at you. settling yourself between her legs, you looked down at the wet patch on her red, lacy panties, making you hungry. you pressed your thumb at her puffy clit, rolling it through her panties. "you want me to take these off?"

"mmhm…" sarah mumbled, biting down on her lower lip.

"yeah?" you let out a teasing chuckle, adding pressure onto your thumb as you rolled it over her clothed clit, "how badly?"

"ugh, please…" she groaned, "please, just take 'em off."

you let out another chuckle, "so desperate for me." but you still hooked your fingers around the waistband of her panties, sarah lifting up her hips to help you take them off, and you slowly slid them down her legs. instead of throwing the pair on the floor with the rest of your clothes, you placed it in your nightstand drawer, "i'm keeping those."

you spread her legs even further, settling yourself back between them as you looked down at her pussy, glistening with her arousal. you gave her puffy clit a flick, causing the girl's back to arch on the bed, "please..." she mumbled, making you let out a small chuckle.

"i wanna taste you..." you spoke softly as you moved to lay on your stomach, sarah lifting up her head to look at you as you hook your arms under her thighs.

you licked a stripe up her wet slit, letting a moan against her cunt; you'd spent so many nights imagining how it might feel, how she might taste, involuntarily rutting your hips against the bed for some friction, your grasp on her thighs tightening as you sucked on her puffy clit. in reality; none of your fantasies matched up to the real thing. you were completely lost in her, only caring about the pretty noises leaving sarah's lips, the breathy moans, your name turning high-pitched when you touched her just right.

you brought your ringed fingers to her entrance, the girl so slick with arousal that your middle- and ring fingers slid into her like a dream, sarah clenching around your digits, "so fucking wet f'me, hm?" you chuckled against her clit as you stilled your fingers inside of sarah, her back arching off the bed, "you're the best thing i've ever tasted, i swear..."

"please..." she whined, and you slowly started pumping your long fingers in and out of her, your other hand holding onto her thigh so tightly you were sure it'd leave a mark shaped like your hand as you continued flicking her clit with your tongue, moving your fingers in and out of her, arching inside of her until you felt your fingers bump against the spongy spot inside of her, sarah's legs starting to twitch, the girl involuntarily trying to close them as soon as you did.

you let out a chuckle, now continuing to move with more purpose and confidence, arching your fingers as her walls slowly clenched around you, looking up to see the girl's face twisted in bliss before bringing your lips back to her clit, grinding your hips against your mattress, letting out a moan that vibrated throughout your best friend's body.

feeling her hand twisting in your hair, softly tugging told you enough, causing you to slightly pick up your pace as sarah stuttered "i-i'm c-c-"

"shhh..." you mumbled against her clit, "just let it happen... so good f'me..."

you continued moving your fingers inside of sarah until the girl let out a loud moan of your name, arching her back off the bed, her walls clenching around your fingers so tightly it felt like she had imprisoned them inside of her. you slowed down your movements but didn't halt them, wanting the girl to be able to come down from her high before you did, and once the pulsing around your fingers slowed down, you pulled your soaked fingers out of sarah, wrinkled from how aroused she'd been, letting go of her clit with a small pop, pressing a soft peck on it.

you kissed your way up her stomach, leaving small, wet prints on her tanned skin until you were face-to-face with her, sarah looking at you dazedly as you smiled and let out a small chuckle, a gesture that she returned almost immediately, the sides of your noses bumping together when you slowly brought your lips to hers, and unlike your first kiss, this one was soft, tender, and slow.

"so." you spoke against her lips, looking into her dark eyes, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "did i unravel you? or do i need to do that again?"

"you did..." sarah mumbled breathlessly looking at you behind her half-lidded eyes, "but i wouldn't say no to you unraveling me again."

[hypnotizedstarkey]

what if

reader taking bf!rafe to go watch babygirl in the cinemas and bf!rafe gets jealous when reader thirsts for harris dickinson LMAOO

Just a Movie

i love this idea!

jealous!rafe x reader

warnings: fluff, kinda suggestive, rafe being an ass guy a little

Just a Movie

“come onnnnn” i groan, “i really want to see this movie”, i pout my lips slightly. Rafe would rather be caught dead then watching some romance/kinky movie. He hasn’t moved an inch even though i’m pulling his arm with every being of my body.

His face unfazed and body laying on the bed, hat covering his face. “Baby, what’s up with you wanting to see some weird movie?”

I huff, “It’s not weird! My celebrity crush is in it-“ this immediately catches his attention. he takes his hat off his face, showing his hint of jealously.

“Now i’m definitely not going.” i frown, “hey don’t get jealous”, i poke at him. “Ask your pogue friends.” he sits up.

“They’re all on their little dates besides I wanted to go see it with you.” i give him a small smile, intertwining our fingers slightly.

“plus.. maybe i’ll give you a small gift..” i peck his lips softly with a smile. he groans as if the suggestion will kill him.

“fine.”

“yes!” i give him kisses all around his face, straddling him. “okay okay, let’s go”, he pats my ass as a signal to get up.

One of the best things about Rafe is that he always knows what i want to eat and what i like. i honestly don’t know how he remembers everything but it’s something i love about him.

“ready, baby?” holding our snacks in his hand. i hum in response.

As we get situated in our seats and the previews play, i can tell rafe is feeling off. “what’s wrong?”

“jus’ thinking”

was he mad at me? did i do something?

i hold back my questions, usually if he wants to talk about something he’ll communicate with me. we’ve been working on doing that a lot recently so maybe i’m just overthinking.

the movie starts and starts getting more and more interesting and intense as it goes on, the more intimate scenes come on and i can tell rafe is looking at me. he’s tense like he’s wanting to leave or just not in the mood for the movie.

“you don’t gotta stare so hard at him..” i hear him mumble. “..what?” taken aback.

he doesn’t reply and it suddenly hits me. is rafe cameron… jealous? i can’t even believe he’s jealous of all people, i would’ve never expected him to get jealous.

“are you… jealous?” i ask more hesitate. “pfft no..? what are you talking about?” he whispers trying to not be louder than the movie.

“oh you soooooo are.” i extended my words and laugh. “it’s okay baby i’m all yours, just hope he doesn’t grab me through the screen.”

“whatever i’m way hotter than that guy”, he’s pulling off this cool guy persona like he doesn’t care.

he places his hand on my thigh, softly gripping as if he’s trying make sure i know im his.

“i only have my eyes on you, cameron, don’t worry” he makes a mocking face towards me and i shove him a little with a laugh.

“wanna get out of here or stay and watch your little boyfriend?” the snarky remark ending with a sly smile on his face.

“yeah yeah whatever let’s go”

“i still get that little gift right?” he slaps my ass as i get up to leave

hiii guys this is my first fluff, it’s kinda short but i hope you like it 💞